


Kicking Up Dust

by annatheginger



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Main Questline, Romance, Slow Burn, between quests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5695585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annatheginger/pseuds/annatheginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment Danse met her, he felt a shift in the air. She was completely different than anything he had ever known, pure in a world that had long since decayed. He just knew she was going to stir up trouble wherever she went, fierce as she was. Fall out of line, start a storm, kick up dust. He wanted nothing to do with it. With her.</p><p>Yet, for some unknown reason, he found himself pulled along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Up

_Five days after black and red collide_  
_The motion sickness passed, I'll be the first to stand_  
_Behind that weathered door, I thought it would be safest_  
_My head is dizzy now, I thought we'd overcome_

_-Barcelona, "Get Up"_

* * *

The sun hung low in the sky as she trekked across the beaten landscape, the sweltering heat of the day dwindling as it set. Charlotte’s head throbbed painfully with every beat of her heart, the combination of exhaustion, dehydration, and hunger threatening to cripple her.

Somehow, she still charged forward despite the protest of her weary muscles, following the strange man in the metal armor she had met only hours ago. Paladin Danse seemed alright so far - if not a little uptight. At the very least, he hadn’t tried to kill her, nor had he turned down her offer of assistance. She figured that accompanying and aiding a strong, armed stranger was better than wandering alone in this unknown wasteland.

“There it is,” Danse called back to her, shooting a glance over his shoulder at her, effectively pulling her from thought. “ArkJet Systems. There shouldn’t be any external security, so we’ll head through the front.”

“Alright,” she acknowledged, her tongue noticeably dry and heavy in her mouth.

They traveled a little further to a haggard building atop a small hill, stilling in front of the doors to the main entrance. Without pausing, she reached out to push the doors open, more than ready to get this over with.

“Stop,” the paladin ordered, making her jump slightly and freeze in place. “Listen up, first. We do this clean and quiet. No heroics and by the book. Understood?”

Charlotte stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment, her exhausted brain taking far too much time to process what he had just told her. He watched her in return, brows furrowing with unease as she blinked wildly at him. “Oh, yes,” she finally agreed, forcing herself out of whatever haze she was in.

He pushed his lips into a thin line, his intense eyes trailing up and down her slight body before settling on her face. She squirmed in place, pinned under his unrelenting gaze until he spoke. “Good,” he finished, dragging out the single syllable and prepping his weapon. “Ready?”

Lifting her shoddy gun - a rifle of some sort, she believed - she took a deep breath to steel herself for whatever she would face inside. As she inhaled, her lungs burned slightly in response, still unused to the radiation saturating the air. _So strange._

“Civilian?” Danse said to her, eyebrows lofting with confusion.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m ready.”

She followed him into the building without another word, eyes shifting rapidly around her surroundings for any sign of movement. She noticed him glance quickly back at her, his sharp eyes revealing no emotion. _He must think I’m an incompetent moron_ , she thought, inwardly cursing her exhausted state. Though she was thankful her body hadn’t given up on her and simply collapsed, she wished she could give a better first impression of herself.

“It was corporations like this that put the last nail in the coffin for mankind,” she heard Danse muse aloud, his tone filled with disgust. “They exploited technology for their own gains, pocketing the cash and ignoring the damage they’d done.”

“Mm,” she hummed back, acknowledging his words but offering no opinion. His explanation was blatantly over-simplified and naive, and she knew it, but she wasn’t in the right state of mind to correct him. In reality, she had always believed that the governments of the world were the _real_ reason for mankind’s downfall, with these big corporations only trying to keep up with what was demanded of them.

But she figured Danse wouldn’t - couldn’t - know that, seeing as he had never had a definitive government nor any direct experience with the pre-war world. However, that was all a conversation for another time. A conversation that included her saying, _Hey! I’m over 200 years old!_

Forcing down a bitter laugh at the thought, she followed Danse into a smaller room, its floor littered with the remains of defeated Protectrons. “Look at these wrecks,” Paladin Danse said. “It appears as though this facility’s automated security’s already been dealt with.”

“That’s good,” she answered, smiling at the him. “Less security’s always good.”

“Negative, there’s nothing good about it,” he said, dismissing her optimism and effectively killing her smile. “Look at the evidence. There isn’t a single spent ammunition cartridge or drop of blood in sight.”

She looked around briefly, checking the surroundings for herself. He was right, of course - not that she would’ve ever noticed those things on her own.

“These robots were assaulted by Institute synths,” he concluded, eyes flashing with restrained anger.

“O...kay?” she ground out, staring at him quizzically. “And what are those?”

This caught him off guard, his eyebrows raising in astonishment. “You don’t know?”

“Uh, no?”

“How do you not…?” he began to ask, blanching. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Synths are synthetic humans created by the Institute. They’re an abuse of technology, abominations created to ‘improve’ mankind. It’s unacceptable. They simply can’t be allowed to exist.”

Charlotte felt the corners of her mouth curl up slightly. “It sounds like you’re scared of them,” she teased, biting her bottom lip mischievously.

“There’s a measurable difference between being frightened and being prepared,” he shot back dryly, completely ignoring her attempt at humor.

“Ah, alright,” she returned, mouth pulling into a deep frown as she tried to sober her hazy mind. “Well, I’ll be on the lookout, then.”

“Roger that,” he nodded. “Let’s move out.”

And so they pushed forward, finding missing passwords and turning on elevators and hacking terminals, his occasional orders shouted into silence. He was unwavering in his focus, walking through the building with the rigidness and poise of a purebred soldier. She almost admired his determination, but in her deteriorating state, it was a struggle to keep up with him.

The effort of following him through the station and keeping her mind alert was almost enough to put her out of commission, so when the synths finally showed up with guns blazing, she actually feared for her life

Barely surpressing a whimper, she willed her weak arms to her rifle, barely resisting recoil as she lit into the synths. Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte could see Danse engaging the synths as well, thankful that he targeted the ones she missed before she could get overwhelmed. Thanks to him, she probably avoided a couple dozen hits - or dying, in general.

As the last of the synths fell to the floor with a thud, it took her a moment to realize that she was practically hyperventilating, the edges of her vision darkening as her body threatened to give up on her. Whipping herself around, she slammed her fist into the nearest wall with as much strength as she could muster, the resulting pain shooting up her arm and jolting her with energy.

Shaking out her aching hand with a weary sigh, she turned to see the paladin kneeled on the ground, gathering ammo from the fallen synths. When he looked up to acknowledge her, his gaze immediately landed on her newly-bloodied knuckles.

“Are you alright, civilian?” he asked as he stood, his voice laced with concern.

“Charlotte,” she choked out in response, her voice strained from pain and dehydration and hunger and _everything_.

His eyes widened slightly at her answer, unsettled by her unusual response. “Excuse me?”

“My name is Charlotte, not ‘civilian,’” she explained, too tired to understand that this was _not the time_ to be indignant.

He seemed to share the same sentiment, eyes narrowing at her with annoyance. “Let’s go,” he said stiffly, his tone lacking its previous warmth.

She sighed and complied, following sluggishly behind him as they got in the now-functional elevator. She knew her body wouldn’t be able to go on for much longer - she was running on empty, by this point. It was practically a miracle that she was still standing.

Fighting through the next round of synths in a daze, she barely noticed that Danse was talking to her moments after they were all eliminated. “...found the deep range transmitter on a synth.”

“Mm,” she agreed, vaguely understanding what that meant. “Then we can leave?” she asked slowly, staring at him with heavy eyelids.

“Er, yes,” he answered, giving her a strange look. “The exit is this way.”

She nodded, nearly giving herself vertigo, and followed him out of the building and back outside. Night had completely fallen by now, enveloping the two of them in soothing dimness.

“Well, that could’ve gone smoother,” Danse lamented quietly, “but mission accomplished.” She barely registered the words, his voice sounding small and far-off.

“Hold on,” she interrupted as the world spun slightly. “I might need to sit down,” she told him, her mouth feeling like dry cotton balls. Noticing some wooden pallets propping up barrels to the left, she walked over to them, nearly collapsing onto the wooden surface with a huff.

Leaning back against a metal barrel, she watched Danse follow her to where she had crumpled, his features twisting with worry. “Civilian?” the panicked paladin asked, kneeling in the dirt next to her and frantically looking over her entire body. “Are you injured?”

“No, no,” she said weakly, waving his concern away with a tired smile. "I haven't had any food or water for a while, though. Or sleep.”

“How long is a while?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing with suspicion.

“Only a few days, I think.”

Jaw going slack from disbelief, Danse stared at her with widened eyes. “Why would you do that?”

She blinked at him slowly, barely able to form any thought. Were her eyelids made of lead?

“Hold on,” he said when she didn’t reply, turning to his pack and rummaging inside. When he faced her, he was holding a white can and something wrapped in paper. “Here, drink this,” he said, popping open the can and putting it in her trembling hands.

Without hesitating, she brought the can to her lips and tasted its contents, groaning with relief as cool, clean water coated her dry mouth. 

"Drink slowly," he murmured. "You don't want to make yourself sick."

She did as he told, despite how desperately she wanted to down the entire can. “I… thank you,” she murmured softly between sips, smiling weakly at Danse. Her tongue felt less heavy now, though the gradual sips only seemed to renew her thirst, reminding her of how badly dehydrated she was.

He nodded silently, watching her intensely as she drank. She stared back into his dark brown eyes, guessing that he was making sure she didn’t faint, which was nice. After days of being completely alone, it was good to have someone looking out for her and making sure she didn’t die. _Not today, at least_.

“Do you think you can eat something?” he asked her after a while of resting and rehydrating. “I have dried radstag meat,” he explained, holding out the wrapped food in his hands. She took it, not bothering to ask what exactly a radstag was. “I know it’s not much, but it’s all I brought along.”

As she unwrapped the paper, revealing dark strips of meat, her stomach clenched painfully at the mere sight of it.

“No, it’s great,” she murmured, staring down at the food in her hands. When she hesitantly tasted a piece, it was salty and tough, reminding her of beef jerky, if not not more game-y. “Would you like some?” she asked politely, lifting her hands slightly.

“No, that’s alright,” he said back. “There’s more at the police station.”

She accepted the answer, tentatively gnawing at the meat. Her body begged for the food, tempting her to shove all of it into her mouth. The Paladin would probably scold her for doing so, though. “Thank you,” she murmured again. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this,” she apologized, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Don’t be,” he assured her gently, shaking his head. “We can’t always be at our best. I understand.”

She let out a long breath, letting her eyes flutter closed. “I’m glad. This is definitely _not_ my best.”

“Well, you still helped me locate the deep range transmitter, best or not.”

“...I guess I did,” she said quietly, pride welling in her chest. Eyes fluttering open to look at the rugged man, she offered a feeble smile, a silent _thank you_ for his continuing kindness.  

She saw the corners of his mouth curl up minutely, the closest he had come to a smile since she’d met him. “Your skills are impressive for a civilian,” he praised her, cocking a head. “Where… did you come from?”

“I don’t know if you’d believe me, honestly.”

He cocked an eyebrow but remained silent. _Try me_ , he practically challenged.

“I had been frozen in a vault for over 200 years,” she said bluntly, vaguely amused by the way his eyes widened in shock. “I only just woke up a few days ago.”

“Hold on... 200 years?” he repeated incredulously, gaping at her unabashedly.

“Yeah, from before the war,” she explained with a sigh, jerked back to the crippling reality of her situation. _200 years, gone_. “I’m really not used to all… this,” she said, gesturing to their surroundings. “That’s why I’m… in such bad shape. I don’t really know what’s safe to eat or drink yet.”

He remained silent for a long while, silently processing the information. “Well,” he began, his voice slightly off-pitch, “most of the freshwater is safe enough. You’ll feel it if it’s not.”

She nodded slowly, reaching for her half-full water can. _You’ll feel it...  just like the air_.

“And as for food, most meat is good, especially if you cook it,” he explained, looking pointedly to her unfinished radstag jerky.

“That’s really good to know,” she sighed, leaning her head against the barrel wearily. “Thank you, Danse.”

“No problem,” he told her, offering a brief nod. “Do you feel any better?”

“A bit,” she said honestly. “My body’s a little mad at me, though. Think I should just sleep here for a while.”

“You shouldn’t stay here,” he said in response, looking at the area around them. “It’s too open. You’ll put yourself at risk.”

“I don’t have many other options,” she said softly, eyes sliding shut with exhaustion.

“...You can come with me to the police station, if you want.”

Eyelids fluttering open with surprise, she locked gazes with the paladin. “I can?”

“We have spare mattresses and rations,” he told her.

“I’d… really appreciate that, Danse.”

He stood, offering her a metal hand to follow suit. “Here. I’ll help walk you back.”

Though she was tired down to her very bones, the idea of an actual mattress was too tempting to ignore. Sighing tiredly, she let him assist her upright before latching on to his metal arm. And gradually, they followed the path they came from, his support the only thing keeping her on her feet.

 _Calm and kind, solid and safe_.


	2. On the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who supported my first chapter. You have no idea how much it means to me. Y'alls responses really encouraged me to keep going <3

_That road can burn through your heart_  
_Make you forget what you're doin' it for_  
_But I'll keep walking through the dark_

_-Angus and Julia Stone, "On the Road"_

* * *

With gun pressed tightly to her chest, she walked through the silent, shoddy neighborhood, feeling undeniably uneasy with each step forward. The dark clouds above obscured any moonlight, leaving her in a thick blackness that only heightened her anxiety.

Charlotte could only hope that the town was as vacant as it seemed, the crumbling buildings lining each side of the street appearing empty and still. However, she had learned over the past few days that anything could be lurking behind closed doors - and she meant _anything_. Giant flies, giant cockroaches, giant mole-rat things - never anything pleasant, of course. Only giant pests.

She _really_ didn’t want to stay in this neighborhood any longer. It was eerie and dim and dank, an unsettling combination that she wanted to leave far behind her. Not to mention that she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled in her chest, a heavy reminder that she was never safe. Not anymore.

Reaching her hand into her pack, she grabbed the half-eaten packet of gum-drops she had found earlier in the day, popping a green-colored one into her mouth. Though the green apple flavor was more stale - and simultaneously more _sharp -_ than she remembered, it was still a familiar comfort that she was more than happy to have.

The sweetness brought back memories of summer nights, of sticky fingers on hips and young lovers tasting the flavors lingering on lips. She remembered Nate as a young man before he left for active duty, before she left for school, his blue eyes soft and sweet as he promised forever in every kiss.  She remembered that sweetness, the same sweetness that was now on her tongue, and the presence of it pierced her heart like a bullet.

Curling her lip with distaste, she shoved the rest of the candy back in her pack, re-positioning both her hands onto her gun and holding it close to her body. As she moved forward, she focused on the feel of the weapon in her grip and not the gaping hole in her chest. It was solid and heavy in her hands, a tangible sense of support in the midst of all this uncertainty.

Though she had been initially hesitant to take the laser rifle from Paladin Danse, he had practically forced it on her before she left the police station. And now, she was more than thankful that he had - the gun had more than helped in the days following her departure.

_“Stay safe out there, soldier.”_

Coming from him, the parting words had almost sounded like an order. They were rough and rugged, just as she had pegged him to be in the short time she had known him. Regardless, remembering those stiff, demanding words still made her chest feel warm. Knowing that someone in this new, cruel word cared about her - even a little bit - made her steps a bit lighter.

In fact, he had even invited her to join his group - the Brotherhood of Steel - and the offer was flattering, to say the least. He had invited _her_ \- a soft, suburban housewife - to join a faction of tough, brave soldiers. _Hell_ , she hadn’t even shot a gun in years, yet he thought she had the potential to fight alongside people like him. The offer was definitely tempting, but…

_Shaun. I have to find him - no distractions._

Sighing into the stillness of the night, she felt her shoulders sag at the thought. How was she supposed to find her son out here? It would be like finding a needle in a haystack, by this point. For all she knew, he could be dead, killed by the same monsters who killed her husband.

But she couldn’t stop yet - she had to try, she had to _know_. She was his mother, and she wouldn’t give up on him until she was dead and buried, too.

Biting her lip nervously _(Nate always hated that habit)_ , she forced herself out of her thoughts as she exited the neighborhood, walking into a nearby shopping area. There was a gas station nearby, as well as a small hardware store with all its windows smashed in.

Walking towards the gas station cautiously, she noticed a dim light coming from the attached convenience store - as well as a bit of smoke. She _definitely_ wasn’t alone anymore, and the thought made her trigger finger twitch. Clicking the safety off, she crouched lower to the ground, hoping that she would have the upper hand on whoever was inside, especially if they were hostile.

_Please don’t be raiders. Please don’t be raiders…_

“Drop the gun. Now.”

Freezing in place, she felt her veins turn to ice at the sound of the man’s voice. In her shocked state, she vaguely heard the click of a gun being cocked only inches from her skull.

“I said drop the fu-flippin’ gun.”

Closing her eyes with defeat, she set her laser rifle down by her feet, a heavy coldness settling in the pit of her stomach. She tensed her muscles, trying to stop her body from trembling as to not show weakness. She couldn’t let him see her fear.

“Alright, now you can stand up. Slowly.”

She did as she was told, gradually uncrouching with her back still to the man. “Who are you?” she asked brazenly, forcing her voice to stay even and unaffected.

The man circled around her so that she could see his face, though the muzzle of his pistol was still pointed directly at her nose. She stared down the barrel of his gun, her piercing amber eyes conveying no weakness, no apprehension. His own eyes analyzed her slowly, taking the time to examine every inch of her body - so she decided to do the same.

The man had a sharp nose, sharp cheekbones - a sharp face, in general. He was taller than her, though she wouldn’t say he was _tall_ , exactly. Broad shoulders preceded a slim, lanky body covered by a tattered tan coat and a simple scout cap atop his head to tie the outfit together.

He was a fighter - she could see it in his stance. She knew he could kill her right now, if he wanted - not with brute force, but with agility and superior weapons training that only came from experience. However, she could see by the look in his eyes that he _didn’t_ want to kill her. It was the look of a man who was on the defensive; he didn’t want bloody his hands in this encounter, but he would fight back if necessary.

Luckily for him, she was thinking the same thing.

“I wasn’t here to rob you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said tentatively into the silence, hoping to coax out any response that would get him to lower his gun.

“...You’re not with the Gunners, are you?” he asked, though it didn’t exactly sound like a question.

“I don’t even know what gunners are,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “So, no, I’m not.”

His arms relaxed only slightly, the pistol in his hands pointing more towards her sternum than at her face. He remained silent and still, and she could practically see the gears turning in his head, slowly working out what to do with her.

Worrying at her bottom lip with unease, she kept unbroken eye contact with the man, waiting for him to speak again. He didn’t, keeping his gun poised in case she made a move to attack. “So,” she interjected, hoping to diffuse the situation. “What are you-”

Mid sentence, she stopped short, distracted by a shuffling sound coming from behind her. Turning to look over her shoulder, she saw a haggard man in the shadows, his hunched form limping towards them. She only had a few seconds to analyze him before he hurtled towards the her and her new _friend_ , its gnarled maw wide-open with a heart-wrenching shriek.

“What the-?” she managed to say before her companion interrupted with a shout.

“Oh sh-shoot!” he stuttered loudly. “Ferals!”

“Can I get my gun now?” she asked sarcastically, backing away as he began firing into the feral human. When he snorted derisively, she took it as a yes, quickly snatching her gun from the gravel.

Turning to shoot, she couldn't stop herself from completely freezing at the sight in front of her. There were even more of the monsters - at least six more - crawling out from alleys and bushes, and the sight of their sunken, twisted faces made her stomach lurch. These things were practically _zombies_.

“Help a guy out!” the man next to her shouted, bashing the skull of a feral who had gotten too close with the butt of his pistol.

His panicked voice snapped her out of whatever horrified trance she was in, pushing her into motion. Thankfully, it didn’t take much to put a single feral down - a few good shots to the head, and they fell like any other enemy. It was the sheer _amount_ of them that was overwhelming, more and more appearing by the second, likely drawn out by the sound of gunfire.

The ferals liked to charge in close and swipe, attempting to club her down before she could get clear shot. Some of them even tried to bite her, a feature that only added to their zombie-ness. Up close, they were even more terrifying - she could see that their skin was pocketed and sullen, mutated horribly from radiation, no doubt.

When the last of them finally fell, she was breathing heavily from exertion, her body aching where she hadn’t avoided the monsters’ reckless blows. However, the physical pain was nothing compared to the horror still gripping her like a vice, adrenaline pumping through her system as she tried to cope with her shock.

Glancing over at her new companion, she was happy to see that he was in one piece, looking only slightly roughed up by their attackers. She guessed that these ferals weren’t uncommon around here, a thought that only served to unsettle her more.

“So…” Charlotte huffed out, her breathing uneven. "What the _hell_ were those?”

He stared back at her, looking perplexed by the question. “Ghouls. Feral ghouls. You know, irradiated humans who lost their minds.” He blinked at her for a moment, straightening up and shaking out his arms. “How do you not know that, living out here?”

“I’m from a vault,” she explained briefly, leaving out the more shocking details. “I only left a few days ago.”

His eyes widened in surprise, though he seemed to process the information quickly. “Well, you’re not a bad shot for a vault dweller,” he said, looking her up and down for a second time. He seemed to be less analytical and more curious in this gaze, and it made her squirm slightly.

“Well, thanks,” she said, accepting the praise with a soft smile. _It looks like killing things together is a good icebreaker._ “I’m Charlotte, by the way.” The introduction was awkward and out of place, but she remained nonplussed, holding out her hand for him to shake. _God_ _, do people even shake hands anymore?_

Blinking a few times at her with confusion, he hesitantly let his gun fall to the side before clasping hands with her. “MacCready,” he clarified, nodding as they shook hands.

“Nice to meet you,” she said politely. _I guess_. “Thanks for helping me with the ghouls.”

He smiled slightly, offering a tip of his hat. “No problem.” His face darkened slightly, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Ferals are pretty nasty. They can really sneak up on you.”

She nodded in agreement, glancing over to their corpses. “I can tell,” she grimaced, nose curling with disgust. “So, is that your camp over there?” she asked, cocking her head towards the gas station and the fire.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It was probably stupid to make a fire, but I guess it’s too late to worry about that now.”

She grinned at him, amused. “I suppose so.”

MacCready gave her a close-lipped smile as he raised an eyebrow. “So, uh, where are you headed?” he asked curiously, his voice warming up slightly.

“Diamond City, I think. Some Minutemen told me I should go there,” she answered, smile faltering as she remembered the task ahead. “Are you going that way? Maybe we could travel together.”

“Minutemen…?” He made a face, shaking his head with disbelief. “Sorry, I can’t. I’ve got some business to deal with.”

She nodded in understanding, emitting a soft sigh. She _really_ didn’t like travelling alone, especially with such limited knowledge of what she would face as she pushed forward. For instance, ghouls - actual _zombies!_ How could she have prepared herself for that?

“Anyway,” he added, “I don’t really think you need me to babysit you. It looks like you can handle yourself.”

“Maybe,” she replied sullenly. “It’s just nice to have someone looking out for you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, making a clicking noise with his tongue. “I get that. I wish I could help you,” he said. “But, who knows? I know there plenty of groups and settlements out there that would be happy to have you.”

“Really?” she asked, remembering Paladin Danse’s offer as well as Preston Garvey’s.

“Yeah, definitely,” MacCready confirmed, pulling her from her musing. “You’ll be great,” he told her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

“...Thank you,” she said warmly. Glancing over at the horizon, she saw the slightest hint of light creeping into the dark sky. “I should really get going now, before the sun comes up. But I hope I’ll see you around, MacCready.”

“Well, in that case - if you’re ever in Goodneighbor, be sure to look me up.”

* * *

The sounds and smells of Diamond City greeted her kindly, fresh food aromas and lively chatter filling up the air of the marketplace. With stalls and schools and houses all crammed into what was once Fairway Park, Diamond City was nothing short of a marvel in this lackluster, post-apocalyptic landscape. Charlotte couldn’t stop herself from staring at everything around her, dumbfounded by the complexity of it all.

“You coming, Blue?” Piper called out, her footsteps slowing so she could glance back at Charlotte. It was only then that she realized she had stopped in place, her awe getting the best of her.

“I am, sorry,” Charlotte responded, rushing to catch up with the snarky reporter. “This is just incredible. I haven’t seen anything this wonderful since I came out of the vault.”

Piper snorted with disbelief, her nose scrunching up slightly. “There must’ve been so many more amazing things before the war.”

Charlotte pursed her lips, nodding. “That’s true, but everything is relative. In the world we live in today, this city is really incredible.”

Taking a moment to mull over Charlotte’s response, the reporter smiled kindly. “I like the way you think, Blue,” she said. “So optimistic.”

“I just like to see the best in everything,” Charlotte explained, “or life becomes incredibly depressing.”

Shaking her head, Piper offered a genuine grin. “If more people thought like you, I bet the Commonwealth would be a much better place,” she lamented. “Oh, we’re here.”

Looking up at the gaudy neon sign that read “Valentine Detective Agency,” Charlotte felt nervousness well in her chest. What if he wouldn’t help her? Couldn’t? What if he found out Shaun was dead? What if…?

“Take a deep breath, Blue,” Piper soothed, immediately picking up on the change in Charlotte’s demeanor. “If anyone can find your kid, it’s Nick.”

Nodding sharply, Charlotte did as she was instructed and inhaled deeply. “Okay. Thank you.”

Stepping into the small office space, her eyes flickered at the papers scattered on random surfaces and stored in a multitude of boxes. A slight woman stood at the back of the room, rummaging through files in one of the boxes, completely engrossed in her task.

“Um, excuse me?” Charlotte asked tentatively, raising her voice just enough to catch the woman’s attention.

“Oh!” the woman gasped, turning to her new customers. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. My name’s Ellie -  I’m Nick’s assistant. What can I help you with?”

Stepping hesitantly towards the woman, Charlotte shot an anxious glance at Piper.

“My name’s Charlotte Hay- ah, Charlotte Nolan," she said, tripping over her maiden name. "And I… I need help finding someone.” Now that she was here, Charlotte found it incredibly difficult to say the words out loud. _My son. I need to find my son_.

“Her son’s been kidnapped,” elaborated Piper, sensing Charlotte’s unease. “We don’t know who took him, but I figured Valentine could figure it out with us.”

Ellie’s face fell slightly, saddened by the request. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m afraid Nick is out at the moment. He just took a job and should be gone for a while.”

Charlotte felt her heart drop heavily, unsettled by Ellie’s words. “A while? How long?”

“I can't say for sure,” Ellie said regretfully. “Sometimes he’s gone a week or more, depending on the nature of the job.”

“Alright,” Charlotte nodded, feeling frustrated by her inability to change her circumstances. “Well, could you let him know about me whenever he gets back?”

“Of course,” Ellie assured. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to help. And I’m sorry I can’t do anything else for you.”

“It’s alright.” _No, it’s not._ “Thank you for your time, Ellie.”

Leaving the building with Piper trailing behind, Charlotte felt bitter tears sting her eyes. She forced them back, trying to build a new plan in her mind.

“Sorry about that, Blue,” Piper said, placing a comforting hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. The gesture was soothing after a week of encountering nothing but hostility. She had missed gentle touches, camaraderie, friendship. It was still too early to truly trust Piper - such was the nature of the Commonwealth - but her help and kindness was promising.

“I guess I have to figure something else out,” Charlotte muttered, chewing on her bottom lip. “I can’t just wait around until Nick comes back. I need to do _something_.”

Piper nodded with understanding. “I’m sure there are people out there with the resources to help you,” she said. “Maybe you should focus on that for now? I’m sure any connections would be helpful, even with Nick’s help.”

Mulling over the idea for a moment, Charlotte smiled slightly. “You’re right. That’s somewhere to start.” Thoughts of Paladin Danse and Preston Garvey flashed in her mind, a glimmer of hope after this disappointment. Sanctuary wasn’t too far of a journey from here if she didn’t get distracted, and the police station was even closer.

“Do you have any ideas?” Piper asked, watching the gears turn in Charlotte’s head.

“I do,” Charlotte answered, smiling brightly.

“Good,” the reporter answered. “And if you ever need someone to watch your back, let me know. You know where to find me, Blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the chapter, be sure to drop a comment or a kudos :) And don't worry, Danse will be back in the next chapter. Until then!!


	3. Leave It Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I hope you guys are still interested in reading, because I really worked hard on this chapter <3
> 
> AND the beginning is a little slow, so bear with me - it's meant to seem tedious. You'll see why.

_Although you can't say it yet_  
_It's never been the same_  
_And it looks to stay that way_  
_It feels like you're okay_

_-Manchester Orchestra, "Leave It Alone"_

* * *

He woke up early every morning, aligned with the sunrise.

Each moment afterwards was structured, rational. The hours of daylight were finite, after all, only giving him a certain amount of time to work before nightfall.

He pushed himself out of his cot this morning, like every morning, shaking out his sleepy limbs and releasing a yawn. He never slept too long or too deeply, honestly, but he had still managed to get some decent sleep, leaving him well-rested and adequately prepared for the day.

Once he was on his feet, he stretched slightly, feeling the joints in his neck and back crack one by one by one, relieving some of the stiffness from tossing and turning in the night. Releasing the tension in his body was a gradual process, but it was an enjoyable routine that gave him a moment to focus his mind and muscles for the day ahead.

Grabbing his folded Brotherhood uniform from the foot of his cot, he pulled on the garment and zipped it up before stepping into his beaten combat boots and tying the laces.

Danse walked to the small bathroom at the back of the police station, shaving kit in hand. Like every morning, he stared into the dirty, slightly-cracked surface of the mirror, lathering soap onto his face with a bit of slightly-tinted sink water.

He shaved leisurely, slowly, pulling the razor down his face carefully and keeping the blade at the most preferable angle.  He made sure to reach every spot without nicking himself, keeping his carefully-groomed scruff clean and neat and orderly.

Next was his daily conditioning in the fenced police-yard. Though he didn’t have the equipment he normally used on the Prydwen, he had assembled a new routine with multiple sets of push-ups, sit-ups, and various other exercises. The sweet burn that crawled through his muscles was just a side benefit, a dull pain that only served to remind him of his growing strength.

Nothing came easily, after all. Everything required the best he could offer, hard work and sweat and pain.

Brushing sweat off of his forehead and out of his eyes, he unzipped his uniform and rolled it down, tying the sleeves around his waist to let his burning skin breathe. He gave himself one, two moments to catch his breath before he walked back inside, out of the dry, sharp heat of the Commonwealth.

Without missing a beat, he was propped in one of the chairs in the police station, standard-issue rifle in hand. He took his time inspecting his weapon, looking for damage or disorder. Checking the sights, the scope, the barrel, for any sign of disrepair. One misplaced screw, one piece of bent metal - it could mean the difference between functioning and failure. And in the Commonwealth, failure ultimately equated to death.

After thoroughly examining his gun and deeming it in optimal condition, he began cleaning its nooks and crannies, another tedious job that required his full attention.

His fellow Brotherhood soldiers bustled around him as he worked, performing their various roles and duties diligently, without hesitation.

This is what he loved about being in the Brotherhood of Steel. Their order, their solidity, their purpose. Even when human beings failed, the Brotherhood remained constant, a guiding hand in this broken, chaotic world. It was an unchanging sureness that Danse was happy to belong to.

His life was stable, simple. Thankfully.

“Paladin?” a voice interrupted, pulling his attention away from his fiddling fingers. One of the newest Initiates stood in front of him, a timid smile on her face. “Do you remember that civvy from the other day? Well, she’s here and asking for you. And she has a dog.”

Danse cocked a brow, intrigued by the turn of events. He nodded at the Initiate after a brief pause, wordlessly dismissing her. Putting his gun aside, he walked through the doors of the police station to greet the vault-dweller.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, slim frame crouched over as she scratched at a dog’s ears. The dog seemed content and nonthreatening as he panted happily at his owner, though Danse’s sharp eyes quickly spotted the flecks of dried blood clinging to his fur. The animal was a fighter, just like the rest of them, despite how docile he appeared.

Charlotte’s eyes flickered over to where Danse stood, having sensed his presence within the span of a heartbeat. Standing to face him, she moved up the stairs fluidly until she stood in front of him, her sturdy dog following close behind.

He traced her face quickly, noting the color in her cheeks and brightness in her eyes. It was nice to see that she was in better shape than the last time he had seen her, considering the poor state she had originally been in.

“Danse,” she greeted, nodding slightly in his direction.

And then she smiled.

It wasn’t like the smiles she had offered before, the close-lipped, exhausted smiles with no life behind them. No, this was a genuine, uninhibited smile that creased the wrinkles at her eyes and revealed a single dimple in her right cheek. White teeth, pink lips, genuine elation. It was unexpected and beautiful and rare, a sight that nearly made his heart stop.

_She’s actually happy to see me._

He nodded back in reply, not trusting his mouth to form words. It was a little frustrating, honestly, to be taken off-guard like that. Danse was usually so composed, prepared for anything. But that _smile_ of hers… it was definitely something he couldn’t have prepared for. Pure and sweet, nearly nonexistent in his world.

“So,” she hummed, cocking her head to the side when he didn’t speak. “I was hoping to take you up on your offer. To join the Brotherhood? If you’d still have me.”

Although he had figured that’s why she had returned, it was still strange to hear. He had pegged her as a free-spirit, an independent individual who followed no one’s orders but her own. Not to say that this was an unpleasant outcome, but definitely unexpected.

“Of course, soldier,” he finally spoke, keeping his expression impassive. “The Brotherhood will be lucky to have someone with your skills.”

She smiled again, though he could see the flush in her cheeks as she processed his words. “I’m glad. I’m just trying to find somewhere I can belong again, you know?”

Her words resonated with him deeply. Of _course_ he knew. To belong somewhere, to be a part of something bigger than oneself... it was a feeling unlike any other.

“You’ll find your place in the Brotherhood. I just know it,” he added.     

“Excellent. When do I start?”

* * *

“Hm, so there _was_ a human inside your metal suit.”

Taken by surprise, Danse looked up to see Charlotte and her dog approaching him, her lips curved up in amusement. Confused by her words, he cocked an eyebrow at the slight woman, a silent request for clarification.

“I’ve, um, never seen you out of your power armor,” she said, gesturing to his equipment and scratching Dogmeat’s ears absentmindedly.

“Oh,” he said simply, watching as her amused smile faltered. “I see.”

“Sorry,” she said, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth - he had made her uncomfortable. “I'm just a bit nervous.” She kept her eyes averted from his, watching as Dogmeat yawned and laid by her feet.

He nodded with understanding, standing from his crouched position to face her. “At ease, soldier. You have no reason to be nervous.”

“I might,” she laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I’ve never done this. I mean - I’ve never been a soldier.”

His fingers twitched around the screwdriver in his hand, unsure of what to say. He had never been the best at small talk or making friends or… any of this. “You’re doing fine,” he finally said, settling on a vague compliment to soothe her. He hoped it was acceptable.

Apparently, it was. Her caramel eyes lit up slightly, some of the nervousness seeping out of her expression.

Another dazzling smile. “Thank you, Paladin.”

He nodded at her in silent acknowledgment, not wanting to stumble over his words when his chest tightened like this. Had he ever seen another smile like that?

“So,” he interjected into the silence, trying to pull himself back to the here and now. “I expect the briefing with Elder Maxson went well?”

Nodding, her curved mouth twisted with a grimace. “It did. But he’s a little frightening, actually. Abrasive.”

“I agree,” Danse responded, noting that his tone was more reverent than hers. She was unsettled, unsure - that was to be expected on anyone’s first day. At least she could already recognize the Elder’s authority. “It makes him a good leader. We respect him.”

“Mm,” she hummed back, the look in her eyes seeming far away. He could only guess what she was thinking about - maybe her prior experience with authority, or lack thereof?

Her eyes flickered from his face down to the screwdriver in his restless, twitching fingers. “What were you doing to your armor?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly and turning to inspect his disassembled power armor. He was thankful for the diversion - he was afraid that she would begin speaking of Maxson disrespectfully, intentionally or not. She seemed like the type to speak her mind without heed of consequences.

“The left leg was damaged in a prior fight with some ferals,” he explained, gesturing to the damaged metal. “It needs to be repaired before we leave for Fort Strong.”

He watched her nose scrunch slightly at the mention of ghouls - an appropriate response. “You know how to do that?” she asked, eyebrows lofting with surprise.

“Absolutely,” he said back. “All Brotherhood soldiers are required to know the basic mechanics of all our equipment."

“Oh,” she said, looking impressed. “Does that mean I get to learn about that, too?” She seemed excited by the prospect, her eyes flashing back to the pieces of his armor with curiosity.

“That would be appropriate,” he agreed, surprised and encouraged by her enthusiasm. “Do you have any prior experience with firearms or armor?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “My dad used to take me hunting, so I know a bit about guns, but that was years ago."

Danse nodded, satisfied by her answer. That explained a lot - when she fought alongside him, she seemed relatively comfortable with a gun, but her shooting was inaccurate and slow. Luckily, both of those deficiencies could be remedied with some solid training. She truly had natural talent in combat - an aptitude that couldn’t be taught.

“I’ll make sure you get some proper training when we return,” he assured her.

“Oh, yeah - about that,” she interjected, “I wanted to ask Elder Maxson, but I was too embarrassed. So - what’s a super mutant?” A small blush stained her cheeks as she asked, her white teeth biting at her lower lip again.

“They’re humans who have been infected by the Forced Evolutionary Virus to be stronger and more aggressive,” he explained with a derisive curl of his lips. “They’re brutes - a mockery of everything that humanity stands for.”

“Oh,” she murmured, brows furrowing at the seriousness of his tone. “Alright. Should I be worried…?”

“They fall like any other adversary,” he explained, trying to assure her. This would be her first official mission, after all. “And I’ll have your back.”

She grinned, her tense stance visibly relaxing. “I’m glad. I’ll try to do the same for you.” The dog laying by her feet huffed, looking up at her expectantly. “As will Dogmeat, I’m sure.”

His lips curled up in response, mirroring the tangible, contagious joy she exuded. _A force of nature_.

“Outstanding.”

* * *

As the vertibird made an unsettling unsteady descent, Charlotte couldn’t take her eyes off of the motionless behemoth lying in the middle of Fort Strong, slain by her own two hands.

She had shot at raiders and mowed down ferals, but this was the first time she had _killed someone_ , not just wounded, and the thought seemed to numb her from the inside out. Sure, it was a monster who lie dead on the ground, but it didn’t change the fact that it was dead because of _her_.

She could only hope that it wouldn’t come to haunt her later, just as Nate’s kills had haunted him.

The vertibird landed only moments later, its heavy impact making her stumble against the mini-gun. Danse jumped out the moment the vertibird made contact with the ground, his hefty power armor landing loudly and sending dust into the air.

“Stay close to me, Knight,” he called back, “and don’t take any risks.”

“Got it!” she answered, jumping out of the aircraft with Dogmeat on her heels. Pulling out her laser rifle, she ducked behind a nearby car and peeked around its cover, taking in her surroundings as quickly as possible. The super mutants didn't seem to see her yet - thankfully - but Charlotte could clearly observe them as they scattered from building to building, yelling gruesome threats with gravelly voices.

They were terrifying, to say the least, relying on their brute strength and size to take down enemies. They loved to charge, to attack recklessly. But more than anything else, recklessness was a weakness. She intended to exploit that.

“Dogmeat,” she murmured, “go help Danse. Hold them down for him.”

The dog woofed affirmatively before chasing after the Paladin, his tail swishing with excitement and determination.

After giving the dog a moment to get out of range, Charlotte popped her head out of cover and shouted loudly at a group of three mutants, drawing their focus to her. They turned with teeth bared as she dipped back down, and bullets immediately shot past the spot her head had been only seconds before.

She knew they were pushing forward, charging towards her with fingers glued to their triggers. As they did so, she agilely rounded the car, her footsteps covered by the relentless sound of gunfire. By the time they had reached her original position, she was already behind them with a live grenade in-hand.

Moments later, all three were knocked off their feet, giving her an opening to shoot into them before they could retaliate.

She caught Danse’s eye from where he took cover with Dogmeat, and the uptight Paladin almost seemed impressed. Almost.

The three of them made short work of the mutants, though that was mostly thanks to Danse. She was too timid each time she attacked, but she didn't trust her abilities enough to be more bold. She was sure that would come with time, with experience. Regardless, Danse still seemed pleased with her performance as the last mutant fell.

“Great work, soldier,” he praised. “Are you injured?”

“Eh, a mutant managed to get close and punch me in the jaw,” she said with a grimace, running her fingers along her aching flesh. “But other than that, no. And you?”

Danse shook his head. “Negative,” he answered, though Charlotte was hardly surprised. With all that power armor, he probably  _couldn't_ get hurt.

“Alright. To the armory, then?” she asked.

“To the armory.”

They moved through the front doors into a wrecked entryway, their guns cocked and loaded, their eyes trained on every dark corner and dim hallway.

“This area seems to be in disarray,” Danse said, noting the mounds of flesh on the floor and the wooden remains of the interior. “I wonder if this is recent.”

“That’s likely,” Charlotte agreed with a grimace, turning her face away from the unsightly mess on the ground. "Nothing seems to be...  _rotting_."

Pushing through the rooms of the armory, they swiftly shot down groups of super mutants. Though it was a great deal more difficult fighting them in such confined spaces, Charlotte found ways to adapt - taking cover behind furniture or having Dogmeat distract them with a bite at their legs. Danse also helped keep a lot of the pressure off her, drawing focus to himself whenever she was getting overwhelmed. 

When they had finally cleared the last floor of the armory, Charlotte pressed a bloody hand to her forehead and took a deep, steadying breath. She was tightly-wound, to say the least, adrenaline still lingering in her blood. 

“Look at this place,” Danse said, gesturing at the corpses littering the floor. “You must hate these mutants as much as I do.”

She scrunched her nose with distaste and glanced around the room. “I don’t know about _hate_ ,” she said. “But they’re not really human anymore, are they? Just angry husks…”

Danse's lips curled up slightly, satisfied with her answer. _He must really hate them, too. I wonder why?_ He seemed prepared to agree with her, his mouth open and ready to reply. But he stopped short, eyes suddenly looking past her, expression shifting to one of panic as he lifted his rifle.

“What-?” she began to inquire, but her words were cut off by the echo of a gunshot.

Then there was only white-hot burning shocking her system, a shooting pain spreading out from her left shoulder like wildfire.

“Get down!” she heard Danse yell, his alarmed voice accompanied by more gunfire. She had already fallen to her knees, her hand automatically reaching over her shoulder to press against her screaming wound. The spot was wet and warm, though she could barely process why.

She had known that being shot couldn’t possibly be a pleasant feeling, but she hadn’t known that it could be this debilitating, this agonizing. She forced in a heavy breath, trying to calm herself through the pain.

Her hazy mind briefly flickered to memories of Nate, of his flushed, nude body bared to her. She had counted his bullet scars one by one, the puckered bursts of scar tissue littering his skin. She had kissed each one with care, trying to heal his already-healed pain. He had suffered so much, but she could only truly comprehend  _how much_ he had suffered in this moment.

 _Nate -_ she still hadn’t had the chance to mourn him. He was dead, and she wasn’t - and somehow, that didn’t seem fair. He was the strong one, the smart one. He had protected her and Shaun until his last breath, so she should at least take _one goddamn moment_ to pray for his soul, to cry for his death, to… to…

...She was already losing herself out here. The Commonwealth was dissolving everything she was, erasing everything she cared about, creating holes in her body where substance used to be.

But maybe that was just the pain talking.

“Knight?” she heard Danse say as he kneeled beside her. “Knight, can you hear me?”

She shut her eyes tight, a dry sob escaping her throat. “Charlotte,” she pushed out, feeling her chest tighten at the sound of her own name. Had it really been so long since she’d heard it aloud? “My name is Charlotte.”

He blanched at her, shocked that she was doing this _again_ , like she had when they first met _._ “Now is not the-”

“Please,” she ground out with a sob, shaking her head back and forth. “I want to be a person again. Not a civilian, a soldier, a target, a vault dweller…” She was practically hyperventilating by now, faint stars already spotting her vision. "I want..."

“Charlotte,” he murmured, and the sound of her own name jump-started her heart, filled in a piece of her soul. “Charlotte, take deep breaths. I’m going to help, but you need to breathe." He sounded so different, so kind. His voice was low and soothing, warmer than she had ever heard it.

“Danse,” she said, opening her eyes to look at him, “it hurts - it hurts.” Her fingers clutched harder against her wound, and in her mind, strange voices echoed the words.

_“It hurts - make it stop hurting!”_

“I know, Charlotte,” Danse answered calmly, removing her blood-covered hand from her wound. As he examined her with light fingers and intense eyes, those alien thoughts were still stuck in her head - flashing, flashing.

_She wasn’t ready for this, she wasn’t-_

“The bullet didn’t go all the way through your shoulder,” he explained steadily, his gaze sincere and unwavering as he watched her. “I should... I should get it out before I give you a Stimpak.”

The words processed slowly, and then panic was flooding her system, harmonizing with the pain. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, panic and pain woven together. It reminded her of the life she used to have, when she offered new life to the world-

“Just focus on your breathing,” Danse instructed. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

__“_ Breathe, sweetheart. Just a little more.” _

Then, she could feel him pressing against where it hurt most, increasing her pain tenfold. It was - _oh, god_ \- it was blinding and all-encompassing and overwhelming. A groan left her mouth involuntarily, the sound dry and choked from relentless crying. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t-

__"_ You’re doing so well. You’re almost-” _

“I’ve got it,” Danse said, and then the pressure of his hands was gone. She could only sob with relief as the sharpness of the pain subsided, dimming down to dull burning. “You’re fine. You did it.”

__“_ Congratulations, Mrs. Haywood. It’s a healthy baby boy.” _

       _"_ _Y_ _ou did it, sweetheart.”_

Danse pulled something from his pack, and seconds later, a blooming warmth spread through her back, erasing the pain, un-tensing every muscle. Her body was fine again, the burn was gone - but she could still remember the pain, the panic, _everything_. It was a lingering reminder of life, of living. Of being. 

Dogmeat licked her hand. Danse touched her cheek.

And she was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think, if I should continue. I'll definitely update quicker this time, I promise! I'm so excited to see where this story goes :)


	4. Homesick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the comments and kudos!! I am so thankful for your support! more info at the end of the chapter about updating and such :)

_Cry wolf, cry mercy  
__Cry the name of the one you were raised to believe_  
_Cry heart, cry yourself to sleep  
Cry a storm of tears if it helps you breathe_  
_It helps you, if it helps you breathe_

_-Sleeping at Last, "Homesick"_

* * *

The metal walls were dingy and grey and lackluster, an aesthetic she had come to expect in the Commonwealth. She kept her eyes fixed in front of her, locked on a long scratch in the metal, as Knight-Captain Cade prodded at the scar tissue on her shoulder blade. She was too exhausted by this point to protest his thorough examination - even though she was _fine._ Truly.

“Your wound has healed nicely,” he said from behind her back. “The scarring is minimal.”

“I already told you that,” Charlotte sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “The stimpak was all I needed.”

“Paladin Danse insisted I examine you,” Cade argued, circling around to face her. Then his hands were tilting up her chin, giving him a better view of her purpling, swollen jaw. His fingers pressed down on the puffy skin, making her wince, though he still seemed satisfied when he released her. “There’s no fracturing, thankfully. Super mutants often leave at least one broken bone.”

“Lucky me,” she mumbled, scrunching her nose slightly. “Why did Danse want you to see me? He saw me heal. He knew I was fine.”

“Not all damage is physical,” Cade answered offhandedly. “Trauma can be as debilitating as a laceration.”

“Trauma?” she asked, blanching. “I was shot. That’s it.”

“The Paladin evidently thought otherwise,” he responded. “He said you went into a panic, so obviously it affected you more than you believe.”

“It surprised me, that’s all.”

“Knight,” he interjected, brushing off her weak excuses. “I need an straight answer - is there anything in your past that could possibly affect your ability to perform?”

A million thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant. The stinging heat of an atomic bomb, detonating only miles away from where her family stood. The frozen, slack-jawed expression on Nate’s corpse as she told him goodbye. The feeling of absolute helplessness as Shaun was taken away from her… Panic fluttered in her chest, cold and seizing. She could feel herself hesitating as he stared, his sharp eyes watching for any sign of distress.

“No, sir,” she answered evenly, keeping her expression impassive.

Cade cocked an eyebrow.

“Nothing at all.”

* * *

 By the time she finally escaped the med bay, she was already doubting her decision. She knew that blatantly lying to a doctor was never a smart choice, but she still didn’t know if she could trust these people with her past - not yet. After all, they would likely _not_ appreciate her putting Shaun before the Brotherhood, if these past few days were any indication.

 _There’s the Brotherhood. And then there’s everything else,_ Danse had emphasized on her first day aboard the Prydwen. It was never a bad thing to be loyal and dedicated to a cause, but being so narrow-minded because of it…? It was a little unsettling. Regardless, she could tell that he was a decent man with the greater good always in mind, narrow-minded or not. Was he misguided? Maybe. But not dishonorable.

She wasn’t one to make snap-judgements, however. It was still too soon to say for sure.

When she found Danse, he was back to work on his power armor, smoothing out brand-new bullet holes and readjusting its frame. He looked up and nodded in acknowledgement, tightening a few more screws before standing to face her.

He looked down at her, his large stature completely dwarfing her small frame, even out of his power armor. Had she always been this small?

“Knight,” he greeted. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I am,” she answered truthfully, feeling a bit more sane in his presence. He felt like safety, surety. “I, um - thank you for helping me, in the armory.” Her teeth caught her bottom lip and bit down, hating how unsure her voice sounded. It wasn’t often that she relied on anyone or showed her weaknesses - yet Danse had seen them all in only a few short weeks. It was unnerving.

“Of course,” he answered evenly.

“Does it ever get any easier?” she asked, chewing at her lip. She tasted blood. “You know, killing? Getting shot? Any of that?”

“Not easier, necessarily,” he answered, looking away from her to rub at his neck. “But it does gets more familiar. More manageable.”

“Ah,” she added, scrunching her nose with distaste. That wasn’t exactly the answer she was hoping for, but it _did_ make sense.

“Just remember that when we fight the enemy - super mutants, synths, ghouls - they aren’t human. They’re simply abominations that need to be eradicated.”

Charlotte grimaced, remembering the screaming, charging ghouls, their decayed hands beating at her bones -  the lifeless, barren synths with empty words and soulless eyes. Getting rid of them? That was something she could get on board with. “Thank you, Danse. That really helps,” she said, releasing her bottom lip to smile at him.

Something in his eyes softened at the sight, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly - like a faint echo of her grin. She loved when he looked at her like this, like he actually cared for her. It was a first for her in this wasteland, to have someone truly want her around, want her to survive.

But in the span of a heartbeat, the warmth in his gaze was gone, replaced by a sharp iciness that made her chest ache. “But I want to be clear,” he added. “When we’re out there, a level head is the difference between life and death. No matter how wounded you are, no matter how scared, you keep fighting for yourself and for your brothers. Weakness is not an option. Understood?”

She blinked at him dumbfoundedly, surprised by his change in demeanor. He was her commanding officer again, the warmth of his previous words dissipated. It was a stark reminder of how he viewed her; they weren’t friends, they weren’t-

“Am I understood, Knight?”

She swallowed heavily and nodded in response, not trusting her voice when her throat constricted like this. Coldness pricked at the base of her neck as she kept eye contact, his dark eyes more intense than she had ever seen them.

“I understand, sir.”

* * *

He hadn’t wanted to be so harsh with her, he really hadn’t. But he was her commanding officer, her superior, and therefore, she was his responsibility. So he had to make it clear what was expected of her, for her own sake. He had to be tough and strict if she was to learn the hardest lessons.

She couldn’t let personal feelings, personal fears get in the way of survival. That was how even the best soldiers ended up with a dozen bullets in their chests, with bashed-in skulls that no amount of stimpaks could remedy. So he had to be tough. To help her survive.

Yet... he couldn’t get her dejected expression out of his mind.

That treacherous voice in the back of his mind leered at him, mocked the sadness and empathy that welled in his chest. It brought up what he wanted to deny, the accusation that his cold change in demeanor was also meant to keep her at arm’s length, to keep her from getting too close. If he didn’t become too attached, losing her couldn’t hurt as much. Probably. After all, survival was unlikely in the Commonwealth, especially for someone as inexperienced as her.

Danse had learned that the hard way.

He also knew how much it stung to lose his soldiers, his _friends_. Because of this, he decided that keeping her at arm’s length was the right choice, even if it was unfair to her. He could tell that she needed someone, needed a shoulder to lean on, at the least. But he couldn’t be that someone. He just couldn’t.

So, that afternoon, he remained impartial as he worked with her. He taught her the basics of firearms - how to strip the most common models, how to clean and lubricate all the working parts. She picked up his lessons rapidly, surprising him with the comfort she displayed when applying each new skill.

When he remarked on her impressive aptitude, she only responded, _"_ _I must remember more than I thought,”_ with a wave of her hand. But Danse knew a natural when he saw one.

Charlotte seemed genuinely interested in learning, which was both refreshing and promising. She asked questions, listened attentively. When he helped her fortify the mismatched pieces of armor she had picked up in her travels, she procured miscellaneous materials from her pack, proving her resourcefulness.

He was impressed with her, remarkably so, which only made it harder to stay detached as he worked with her.

“Great work today,” he said, his approval evident as the day came to a close.

“Thank you.” She accepted his praise, though her tone was stagnant and cool. Danse supposed he deserved that after the apathy he had shown her, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“I think we should work on combat tomorrow,” he suggested. “On your accuracy. Maybe even some hand-to-hand.”

Something flashed in her eyes, some emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Sure,” she accepted seconds later, seemingly satisfied with his plans. “Sounds good.”

“Outstanding,” he said. “You’re dismissed for today, Knight.”

After they stopped, she seemed perfectly content the rest of the evening, chatting comfortably in the mess hall and warmly wishing him a good night. He had noticed something off in her eyes, in her brilliant smile, though Danse pegged that on simple exhaustion.

He didn’t think much of her strange glances and unreadable emotions until much later in the night.

Most of the lower-ranked soldiers had retired for the night, and Danse had assumed that Charlotte was among the sleeping. As for him, he didn’t sleep for long - he retired to bed late and awakened far too early. He was usually one of the last people awake on the Prydwen because of this, leaving him with a lot of solitary time to look over the ship and work on his equipment.

Walking down a dark set of stairs to the underbelly of the ship, he checked the various valves and pipes that kept them in the air. As he moved down the walkways, the only sounds were the hums of machinery and the thuds of his Brotherhood-issued boots.

This was familiar and soothing to him, reminding him of his first weeks on the Prydwen as a Squire and working on the ship’s machinery. The humming calmed him, letting his nightmares and worries and fears fall away, at least for the moment.

As he approached the rear of the ship, an unusual, unplaceable sound caught his attention, putting him immediately on guard. It was soft, a staccato sound that he couldn’t quite make out over the machinery.

He inched forward, curious but careful, not making his presence known. When he could finally peek around the beam, he was surprised to see Charlotte sitting on the floor, leaning against the metal and staring at her Pip-Boy.

And she was… crying. Distressed.

He moved to step forward, to see if she was injured, but paused when he heard a male voice speak from the device on her forearm.

“ _Ah, yay! Hi honey, listen…_ ”

The voice sounded warm, reverent as he spoke. It was strange to hear such happy words accompanied with such pained sobbing. Her tear-stained face was illuminated by the Pip-Boy’s screen as she listened, her constantly-smiling lips pulled into a deep-set grimace.

A soft coo interrupted the man’s voice, making him laugh while Charlotte only cried harder, clutching her free hand to her chest, over her heart.

Danse knew he shouldn’t be listening to this, that this was meant to be private and intimate, but he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her face. She seemed so broken, so vulnerable, and it made his own chest ache sympathetically.

_“You are kind and loving and funny - that’s right, and patient. So patient. Patience of a saint, as your father used to say…"_

Danse could only wonder who he was - a lover, a husband, a brother? The unknown voice seemed to know Charlotte well, seemed to love her immensely, and that only caused curiosity to swell within him. He would never ask, never pry, but he still wanted to understand why she was in so much pain. One day, if he was lucky, she’d respect him enough, trust him enough to confide in him.

He was surprised by how much he wanted her to trust him.

“ _Bye, Charlotte. We love you."_

Her Pip-Boy clicked as the holotape reached its end, and he saw her close her eyes, almost as if she had been defeated by it.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard her murmur into the silence, her voice brittle and raw. The words were followed by a violent sob, a cry that shook her entire body. She didn’t say anything more after that, just clutched her Pip-Boy to her chest and fell apart.

Fighting the overwhelming urge to reveal himself and comfort her, he slipped away just as quietly as he had arrived with a melancholy look on his face.

 _I’m so sorry_ , her voice echoed in his head, sad and strained. _I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the short chapter and the super-long wait between chapters. I even promised that I'd update sooner, but the semester got really insane and I couldn't focus on writing. BUT I'm on break until August, so I really think my next update will be A LOT sooner, at least one chapter a week (hopefully).
> 
> Please leave some feedback, I would really appreciate it!
> 
> The story really kicks off next chapter, so definitely subscribe <3


	5. Sleeping Sickness

_And I'm afraid_  
_To sleep because of what haunts me_  
_Such as living with the uncertainty_  
_That I'll never find the words to say_  
_Which would completely explain_  
_Just how I'm breaking down_

_-City and Colour, "Sleeping Sickness"_

* * *

 “I have to leave, Danse.”

He took in her words with confusion, noting the seriousness and sincerity in her eyes, the way her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

“I don’t understand,” he responded after a moment, staring down at her curiously.

She looked away from his prying gaze, mouth pressing into a thin line. “There’s something I have to take care of,” she tried to explain, though her vagueness served only to frustrate the Paladin even more. “And it can’t wait anymore. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to need more information than that, Knight,” he responded, feeling his jaw tighten. What could be more important than their cause, than serving the Brotherhood?

She scrunched her nose up slightly with distaste. “Someone I love has been kidnapped,” she told him ruefully. “He was taken from the vault while I was trapped inside.”

 _Was it the man I heard on the holotape?_ Danse couldn’t help but wonder.

“I thought you were briefed this morning by Maxson,” he said, “for our next assignment.”

“I was,” she murmured, her caramel eyes meeting his again. “He wants us to find a way into the Institute.”

“I know. It’s a very important mission, soldier.”

Charlotte grimaced. “But who knows how long that could take?” she asked, eyes widening with alarm. “I can’t… I have to-”

Any argument she had died in her throat, and she blinked rapidly as if to fight back tears. He could feel his chest constrict at the look of panic, of pain on her face. Suddenly, her reasoning didn’t really matter to him - she was distressed and lost and _needed_ to do this, whatever _this_ was. And as her commanding officer, as her _brother_ , it was his duty to help her in any way he could.

Danse sighed heavily, letting his eyes close for a brief moment of resignation. “Alright, if that’s what you need,” he complied wearily.

“It… it is.”

“Then go gather your gear,” he ordered. “We’ll leave before nightfall. Dismissed.”

Turning to go pack up his own equipment, he was stopped by a small, gentle hand on his shoulder. “Wait, what?” he heard her mutter from behind him, sounding incredulous.

He looked back at her with an arched eyebrow. “Yes, Knight?”

“ _We?”_

Regarding her quizzically, he nodded slowly. “I’m not going to let you go back out there alone,” he explained. “We’re comrades now. Even though we’re not pressing forward with our assignment yet, I’ve still got your back.”

“Oh,” she breathed, letting her hand fall from his shoulder. “Okay. Thank you.”

He blinked for a moment at her unsure expression before dipping his head. “Is that all?” he asked, and when she nodded slowly, he made his leave. Part of him was disappointed in her for choosing personal matters over the Brotherhood, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t understand - so he offered his support to her, regardless.

After all, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he sent her off alone, still untrained, and she ended up dead. She was a promising recruit, an honorable woman, and losing her would be… more than unfortunate, especially since Danse had taken somewhat of a liking to her.

Danse was sure to seek approval from Maxson for their leave, and the Elder begrudgingly allowed it - as long as they looked into their assignment on the way. Maxson’s consent was more than a relief to the Paladin, considering that Charlotte would have likely left, even without it.

The realization was a frustrating one, to say the least. She was independent, stubborn - and those were dangerous traits in a soldier. A small voice in his head wanted nothing to do with her, warned him to back out, to let her leave on her own so he could go back to his routine life. She was going to stir up trouble wherever she went, fierce as she was.

But he had decided to ignore that voice, letting himself get pulled along by her brilliant smile and vivid personality and undisclosed adventure.

So he departed with Charlotte that night, not quite knowing where she was pulling him but not quite caring, either.

* * *

The sun had been out for a few hours by now, and the heat it emitted had definitely reached its peak. Charlotte heaved a sigh and brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder, exposing the back of her sweaty neck to the air. Out of all the things that were different in this world, this  _weather_ was difficult to get used to. Winter was rapidly approaching, after all, yet it felt just as hot and arid as summer.

Glancing over at her lumbering companion in the power armor, she couldn’t help but feel irritated by the cool look on his face - he didn’t look phased in the least. Was that armor air conditioned or something? If so, that was absolutely _not_ fair.

Moments later, Danse turned his head to catch her eye, and she realized that she had been staring. This made a heated flush crawl up her neck, only serving to increase her body temperature. “Sorry,” she murmured lamely, tearing her gaze away from him and towards the horizon.

She heard him chuckle softly to her side, a sound she hadn’t heard from the Paladin until now. It was low, throaty - rough but pleasing, just like him.

“So,” he interrupted their long-standing silence, speaking for the first time in a couple hours. “You think this ‘Nick Valentine’ can help us find your... uh, your-”

“Son,” she filled in too quietly, but she knew that he had heard her.

“Your son?”

She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, preparing herself to reveal the truth. “My husband… Nate was killed in the vault protecting my baby. He isn’t even a year old,” she lamented, trying not to relive that moment all over again. Dogmeat whined by her side, likely picking up on her dour change in mood. Charlotte gave his ears a quick scratch.

Danse stayed silent after the confession, and she figured he was going to leave it at that. He had gotten the information out of her, and that was probably enough for him. But then he opened his mouth again, inquiring, “...what’s his name?”

She couldn’t hide her shock at his interest, though it wasn’t necessarily unwelcome. She hadn’t talked about her son much since she left the vault. There hadn’t been anyone to truly talk to. “...Shaun,” she murmured back, but not without hesitation. It hurt to hear his name aloud. “Shaun Thomas, named after my dad.”

“You’ve mentioned your father quite a few times,” Danse observed.

“Have I?” she shot back offhandedly, her voice tight. “I suppose I have. He taught me everything I know.”

“How so?” asked Danse, trying to sound nonchalant, though Charlotte could tell that he was trying to prod gently, to open her up delicately. But he seemed to be… genuinely curious.

“Well… I told you that he taught me to shoot,” she began, subconsciously tightening her fingers around her rifle. “He loved to hunt, mostly deer. He brought me along as soon as I could hold a gun.” A small smile stretched across her face as she was pulled into her memories.

“I’m guessing you caught on quickly.”

“Of course I did,” she teased, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth mischievously. Danse laughed in response. “But that man was so proud of everything I did. I mean, he always joked that he prayed for a son but got stuck with me, but I know he loved me more than anyone in the world.”

The Paladin glanced at her briefly, a quick attempt at reading her expression. “He sounds like a good man.”

“He was.”

Then the quiet fell back between them, though it wasn’t uncomfortable, necessarily. Just simply having Danse nearby, offering stern, silent support was more than enough for her. It wasn’t unlike the support her father gave, honestly. Strict but gentle, rarely saying any soft words but showing love in every action.

Her dad had believed in her so much, but she had never been sure if she deserved his confidence. _He_ had made her strong _. He_ had made her worthy...

“You know, I think he’s the only reason I’m alive right now,” she thought aloud, the revelation nearly draining her.

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head, not quite knowing how to explain her thoughts. “It’s like… his instincts and morals are what guide me,” she clarified. “Not any natural intuition I have. If it weren’t for him, I don’t think I would have made it one day out of that vault.”

“Mm,” he hummed at her side, mulling over her words. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

“Maybe,” Charlotte sighed. “Maybe not.”

Danse made some noise in the back of his throat - probably conveying disapproval - and then the conversation was over.

At her side, Dogmeat whined pathetically, muzzle pointing towards the horizon. With a sudden burst of energy, the dog rushed ahead, barking jovially at the two of them, hoping that his humans would follow. Danse kept his eyes trained on the excited mutt with a half-smile, seemingly amused but still looking out for any sign of danger.

Charlotte, on the other hand, watched Danse, watched his expression with curious, confused interest. He was more… complex than she had originally thought. More fascinating.

It wasn’t a displeasing revelation.

* * *

_She stared at the mug clutched between her hands, having barely touched any of the honeyed tea. It was probably lukewarm by now, but she didn’t really mind. She didn’t care for tea much, honestly, but he always made it for her whenever she couldn’t relax. Such a sweet gesture, such a sweet man._

_“Are you feeling alright?” he asked, breaking the silence. Her gaze snapped up at the sound of his voice, dispelling her trance._

_“Mhm.” She made the sound in the back of her throat, noncommittal. “This is just hard.”_

_“I know,” he murmured, pushing his own empty mug away and across the table. “But we need to talk about this.”_

_Her husband was the rational one, of course. Charlotte, for one, had learned to survive on gut feelings and sharp instincts alone, letting emotions and senses guide her. Nate, on the other hand, always had to have a plan._

_She settled on saying, “Yeah, we do.”_

_“We both know this isn’t as easy as it used to be.”_

_“It isn’t,” she agreed warily, all emotion draining out of her voice. “We’re not the same kids who fell in love that summer, I guess. We’ve changed. We’ve grown apart.”_

_Nate nodded. “It’s not like we don’t love each other, but-”_

_“Right. I_ do _love you.”_

_“-but it’s not… we can’t just stay the same and expect this to work. We’re not happy.”_

_Her eyes flickered towards the hallway, towards the room where her newborn slept soundly. “But… for Shaun’s sake… we have to try. We have to really work at this.”_

_“Exactly.”_

_She paused for a moment, looking away from his intense green eyes before her own filled with tears. “I’m not going to give up on you, you know,” Charlotte said quietly, her words a small vow._

_“And I won’t give up on you, honey,” he promised in turn. “You’re my best friend.”_

_“You’re mine,” she agreed. “We just have to… get to know each other again.”_

_Nate grinned at her, all teeth and simple sincerity. “We will.”_

_She smiled back at him, feeling her heavy soul lighten by a fraction. She had been dreading -_ avoiding _\- this talk for months as they drifted further and further apart. But this had been… nice. Promising._

_While she relaxed back into her chair, the lights above her flickered slightly, drawing her gaze to the ceiling before they righted themselves. When she looked back at her husband, a dark, ominous silhouette lingered behind him, its presence jolting her with a sense of unease._

_“Nate…?” She tried to warn him, but her words hit some invisible barrier, throwing her own voice back at her._

_His smile faltered, subdued as she spoke, a resigned sadness reaching his eyes._

_“Nate!” she yelled this time, feeling adrenaline rush through her at his expression. He wasn’t going to flee, he wasn’t going to-_

_The click of a cocked gun stopped her frantic thinking short, stopped her heartbeat short. The silhouette moved closer towards her husband, its edges overlapping his own. Without any hesitation, the shadow-limbs pointed right at Nate’s head._

_“I love you,” he mouthed. No sound reached her ears. “I love you, honey.”_

_“Nate, you can’t leave me! No, no, no-”_

_There was the ring of a gunshot, and the world was nothing but red._

 

A cry ripped out of her throat as she jolted awake, body lurching upright and heart beating wildly in her chest. Her surroundings were dark, dim, and unfamiliar, heightening the remaining terror from her nightmare.

 _Oh, my god, what-?_ Panic paired with adrenaline continued to flood her body, setting every nerve on fire and making her tremble. White noise hummed inside her ears and over her heartbeat, slowly fading in and out as she attempted to reestablish reality.

“-lotte, Charlotte. It’s alright, it’s-”

Then there was his warm, deep voice breaking through her fear, her panic. It was familiar and soothing and felt like safety.

“You’re in the Commonwealth,” he murmured gently to her, from beside her, and she turned her head to look at him. “Your name is Charlotte, and you’re safe.”

_Danse._

He continued to speak similar words, a comforting mantra to reassure her as her wild pulse slowed down. He remained completely calm in the face of her hysteria, staying close to her body but pointedly avoiding any physical contact. It was exactly what she needed - solid security without any threat of suffocation.

His eyes never left her body; she could feel them following the rising and falling of her chest as her breathing slowed, watching her pupils as they diminished in size, observing the slight tremble of her hands as they rested in her lap.

He simply waited, hummed soft words as she regained her composure.

_Such a sweet gesture, such a sweet man-_

She could still feel the lingering fear from her dream in the back of her mind, nagging and persistent, but she had managed to shake most of it. When she was finally able to meet his unwavering gaze, it was with steadied breaths and a clearer head.

“...thank you,” was all she could say.

“Of course,” he murmured back. “Do you need to talk about it?”

No, _no -_ it was still too close, too real. If she spoke of it now, it would all come flooding back, relentless and cruel and-

“Not right now.”

He nodded, immediately deciphering her look of fleeting fear. “Alright,” he conceded. “Whatever you need.”

Stretching her arms out slightly, she pressed her palms against the dry cot they had found the night before, nestled nicely in this abandoned cabin. “I’m not really tired anymore” she noted. “I can take watch while you get some sleep, if you’d like.”

“I’m fine,” he brushed off her offer, though she could see straight through his bluff. His voice was gruff, strained from exhaustion. 

“You haven’t slept in a while,” she pointed out, frowning. “You need sleep, too.”

“I’m _fine_ , Knight. I don’t sleep much.”

She exhaled sharply, frustrated by his short responses. _Stubborn man_.

“Why?”

He smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We all have our demons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! PLEASE let me know if you did!
> 
> I didn't get any comments last chapter, and that's always pretty disheartening. I never want to seem like that's all I'm after - I write for myself as much as I write for y'all, and it's lovely knowing that people are reading the story even if I don't hear about it, but it's still always nice to have people let me know what I'm doing well or poorly. So any feedback would be great, considering that I'm really starting to get into the plot and might need advice sometime soon XD
> 
> Love you all <3


	6. Changes in the Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, thank you so much for all the kudos and comments. y'all are my motivation to continue <3

_And then the rain comes pouring down_  
_And you wake up to the sound_  
_Of changes in the weather_

_-Barefoot Truth, “Changes in the Weather”_

* * *

“Why do these things have to be _everywhere?”_

Her voice was hoarse as she yelled to the Paladin from her cover, and she blindly threw one of her grenades in the direction of the agitated super mutants. Her thigh was screaming in protest in this squatted position, and she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking as she gripped her gun tight.

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Danse probably would have chuckled at her exclamation. However, the sound of whirring bullets and detonating grenades would dampen anyone’s mood.

“Knight, are you alright?” he called back at her, briefly poking out of cover to shoot into a few more mutants.

Charlotte knew he was trying to reference her wounded leg nonchalantly, making sure that she wasn’t going to break down in the middle of a firefight. Thankfully, the stinging, shocking, burning pain was easier to bear with every bullet she took - though it was just as unwelcome - and she was able to easily push through the ache without compromising her concentration. She let the agony fuel her motivation, her anger as she fought the assailants - whereas last time, it only provoked panic.

Cautiously creeping around her concrete cover, she tried not to waste too much time _thinking_ about aiming and simply _aimed,_ and seconds later, she felt a burst of pride as her shots hit a mutant directly in the chest. He fell like a dead weight, an angry groan leaving his lips as he lost consciousness. Or died.

With a vicious snarl, Dogmeat rushed forward and bit into the downed mutant’s throat, ensuring that he would stay down and not hurt his humans again.

It was only moments later that Charlotte pushed herself up from the dirt, taking in the scene before her. The ground was littered with fallen super mutants, and none of them seemed to still be breathing. Glancing over at where the Paladin emerged, she automatically reloaded her weapon and grinned at him.

“I guess they didn’t stand a chance against us,” she said proudly, hoping to coax out a bit of Danse’s good humor. Despite her lighthearted attitude, his sour expression remained set as he glared at the green corpses, his lip curled up with obvious disdain.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked lightly, breaking him out of whatever loathsome trance he was in. When he looked over at her, his eyes softened, and the sight made warmth bloom in her chest.

“I should be asking you that, Knight,” said Danse with a sigh. He clunked over to her in his heavy armor, kneeling down to get a good look at her thigh. She felt the automatic urge to twitch away from him, away from his close proximity, but she knew his actions were nothing but innocent.

As he gingerly inspected her wound, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m great,” she hummed sarcastically, though she could already feel pain increasing as the adrenaline in her body ebbed away. “Really, just peachy.”

This earned a small chuckle from the Paladin as he grabbed a Stimpak from his supplies, immediately jamming it into the spot next to the hole in her leg. She made a soft sound of offense - _thanks for the warning!_ _-_ but he was too preoccupied to notice. “I’m sure you are.”

“Mm.” She couldn’t help but moan at the warmth that bloomed from the injection, its rush like a velvety blanket that completely covered all her hurt. “Thanks,” she said as he stood.

“No problem, soldier. You're getting better,” he praised, his lips quirking up slightly. She couldn’t help but follow the movement with her eyes, pleased with his satisfaction.

“I think my skin is getting thicker,” she joked, lightly pinching the flesh on her upper arm.

“Or you’re more motivated,” he offered, pointedly looking back at the carnage they had created. The resentful look on his face was back, eyebrows furrowing with an anger she couldn’t quite understand.

“Hey, Danse,” she gently interjected. “Why _do_ you hate super mutants so much?”

He stood a little straighter, his shoulders probably tensing under all that armor.  She felt pinpricks of anxiety at the back of her neck, a subconscious reaction to the sudden hostility rolling off him in waves.

_This goes so much deeper than hate, doesn’t it?_

“...They’re responsible for the death of a close friend of mine,” he said with blatant anger, though she could detect traces of bitterness and pain in his confession. “A Brotherhood Knight named Cutler.”

She felt her mouth pull into a grimace. “I’m sorry, Danse.”

His eyes flickered to hers, gaze softening minutely. A subtle sign of appreciation. “It’s just - when you ask if I hate them, I’d say hate’s too gentle of a word.”

“Do you think all mutants are like that? Like _this?”_ she asked, referencing the mess surrounding them.

He looked completely confounded by her question, eyebrows lofting with uneasy surprise. “I… don’t think there’s any point in wondering,” he responded, a certain sharpness appearing in his tone. “They’ve been genetically modified to be like this, to be _monsters_. It’s not our duty to try and sympathize with them. ”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she interjected with a defensive raise of her hands, unsettled by his quickly darkening expression. “I’m not about to go out and befriend one,” she added, trying to lighten the mood some.

Charlotte could still see the tension in his jaw, but the way he looked at her was clearly less murderous.

“And don’t think I don’t understand. Or empathize,” she muttered. “It’s really hard to lose someone close to you, especially when they were taken by someone else. It just doesn’t feel...”

“Fair?”

“Exactly.”

Danse sighed, shoulders slumping. In the end, after rapidly shifting though so many emotions - anger, sorrow, loathing - he simply seemed exhausted.

“I’ve spent so many years trying to put a stop to this madness,” he muttered through clenched teeth, gesturing at one of the dead mutants. “Especially after losing Cutler. And just when I thought we were getting the upper hand, along come the synths.”

Suppressing a shudder at the mention of those empty, skeletal machines, she tried to keep her face passive as the Paladin continued.

“I’ve seen what these super mutants do. I suppose you have, too,” he added with a bitter snort. “Can you imagine what the synths would do if they ever got the upper hand?”

“I don’t want to, honestly.”

He let out a bark of a laugh, no hint of amusement in the sound. “Fair enough.” As he paused for a moment, she caught him frown, looking down at the dirt with a heavy sigh. “I don’t mean to bore you with my rhetoric,” he admitted, almost appearing bashful. “I just want you to understand why I - why the _Brotherhood_ sees things the way we do.”

“I’m starting to,” she stated honestly, feeling slightly surprised at herself. Although the close-mindedness of the Brotherhood still made her wary, it also made sense, in a way. They wanted to protect, to preserve. She could only hope that it would continue to be for the right reasons.

Not only that, but Danse was… he was a good man.

“Regardless,” he breathed out, shaking his head. “We’ve wasted enough time here. If we keep pushing forward without any more _distractions,_ we should get to Diamond City before dark.”

“Outstanding,” she said stiffly, mimicking his voice with a smug smile. Though he didn’t bother with a reply, she still didn’t miss the unamused glance he shot her way.

Beginning to move forward again with Dogmeat bounding at their heels, Charlotte found herself back on alert - but also settled by the stillness around them. The super mutants must have warded off any other unwanted residents from the area, the buildings in close proximity seeming completely abandoned.

She snuck a peek over at Danse by her side. She had admittedly become increasingly interested in the Paladin with each passing day as he talked, opened up, laughed, smiled.

In response to this train of thought, she found herself blurting out, “Hey, Danse?”

“Yes, Knight?”

“...What was Cutler like?”

His eyebrows rose, head turning to make eye contact as they walked. “Cutler?” he echoed, caught off-guard by her question. “You want to know about Cutler?”

Charlotte nodded.

He blinked at her once more, baffled, and it made her heart ache as the reasoning behind his surprise dawned on her. Had no one else ever bothered to ask him about this?

Well, Charlotte was a mother. It was in her nature to care, to worry, to pry. If he hadn’t been before, the Paladin would just have to get used to it.

“Well...” he murmured hesitantly, “Cutler was really stubborn, in a way. A lot like you, actually…”

* * *

The sun was only just setting when they arrived, and she was more than grateful to have made it before darkness descended. There _were_ advantages to travelling at night, she knew that, but everything was so much scarier in the dark, even with a human tank watching her back.

Danse stared at everything with wide eyes as they entered, looking just as curiously amazed as she had that first time. “Have you never been here, Danse?” she asked.

“It’s been a few years,” he admitted, blinking himself out of his trance at the sound of her voice. “It seems to get bigger every time I visit.”

For a brief moment, she wondered _how_ it could get any bigger - Diamond City was built within the confines of a baseball stadium, after all. But as she followed Danse’s line of sight, she understood that he meant the inhabitants simply built _upwards_.

“I guess everyone wants to live here,” Charlotte muttered. She was surprised by the twinge of homesickness that was suddenly evoked in her, jealous of the familiar feeling of a community that grew and thrived together. Families were made and raised in places like these, and she had once belonged to a similar place. But that was all just pointless musing, now.

“It’s safe,” Danse added - a very practical way of viewing their homely surroundings. “That’s a rare thing in the Commonwealth.”

She made a noise in the back of her throat in response, sharp and disapproving. “So I’ve gathered.”

The Paladin shot a small, sympathetic look at the small woman, a subtle comfort he seemed to save only for her. He was supportive, consistently trying to understand how jarring it was to wake up amidst all… _this,_ and she was more than grateful that he tried his best to ease her transition.

His expression hardened once more when he looked away from her, eyes scanning the multitude of buildings around them. “So, where is-?”

“Blue?” a penetrating voice called out from across the marketplace. “Hey, Charlotte - that you?”

Charlotte froze at the sound of her name, seeing as it was so rare to hear from anyone but Danse, nowadays. Danse stiffened, too - always on guard. The pair turned to the source of the voice, and Charlotte immediately caught the unmistakable red of Piper’s coat.

“Piper!” In an instant, Charlotte’s unease was replaced by excitement as she waved back at the reporter. Although she hadn’t gotten to know Piper that well the last time she visited, it was overwhelmingly comforting to recognize someone _friendly_ in the Commonwealth.

“I was wondering when you’d come back, Blue,” Piper teased once she had rushed over to them. “I still need that interview, you know.”

Danse coughed slightly at his companion’s side, likely feeling lost as the women chatted. “Blue?” he murmured to his companion, voice almost embarrassed.

“Like the vault suit,” Piper answered for the vault dweller, winking at her with a grin. “I’m Piper, by the way,” she said to Danse offhandedly.

“Citizen,” he nodded in greeting, though his voice had flattened as it did whenever he was on guard. Impulsively, Charlotte placed her arm on his (unusually bare) forearm to calm him. She felt him tense at her touch before immediately relaxing into it.

"This is Paladin Danse," Charlotte introduced for him, considering that it didn't appear he was going to.

Piper’s gaze flickered down at the movement but didn’t say anything about it. “Paladin, huh?” she hummed, looking pointedly at Charlotte as she spoke. “I would’ve never pegged you as the Brotherhood type, Blue.”

“Me either,” Charlotte shrugged, deflecting Piper’s disbelief.

“I mean, you know how they feel about synths, right?” the reporter prodded, narrowing her eyes.

Danse straightened at the mention of synths, though Charlotte was only confused by the question.

“Yeah…?”

Shrugging after an uncomfortably silent moment, Piper relented. “Alright, it’s your decision.”

Charlotte only blinked at the reporter, still perplexed by the way Piper and Danse were acting. It made the air between the three of them tense and awkward, and Charlotte wanted none of it. “So,” she interjected, “do you know if Nick’s back?”

“I haven’t checked,” she responded, sounding thankful for the change in subject. “Let’s go see if Ellie’s seen him.”

When the three of them had crowded into Nick’s small agency, Ellie immediately rushed out of the back room with a manic look in her eyes. Seeing Charlotte’s small group at the entrance, her face fell with a sigh.

“Oh, Ms. Nolan!” she blurted out, obviously flustered. “I’m sorry, I… I thought you might’ve been Nick.”

“Why?” Charlotte asked. “Is something wrong?”

“The detective… he’s gone missing.”

Charlotte resisted the urge to scream, though she could still feel her hands curling into fists at her side. She was so frustrated, so _unbelievably_  desperate-

_Nothing can ever be simple, can it?_

* * *

They kept low to the ground, guns poised but cautious fingers off of triggers. They had managed to remain stealthy and silent as they pushed forward, quickly picking off lower lackeys that were scattered throughout the vault. The need to remain covert was the reason she had sent Dogmeat back to Sanctuary, considering that the dog loved to charge and growl at anyone who threatened his humans.

Truthfully, Charlotte had been worried about Danse's ability to sneak in all that metal, and she had been openly surprised when Danse showed relative proficiency at stealth. She had mentioned her thoughts to him and, in response, earned herself a sarcastic eyeroll from the Paladin. It was an amusing distraction, even in this tense situation. She didn't bother to suppress her grin.

As she inched forward a bit more with them at her heels, the sound of arguing voices - muffled by metal walls - gave her reason to pause. When Charlotte turned to her two companions with raised eyebrows, they had both frozen in place, as well. She cocked her head to the side, questioning. _Do you hear that?_ Both Piper and Danse nodded, and the Paladin jerked his head toward a closed door to their left.

_That way._

“...gimme that crap, Valentine.” They could start to make out one of the muted voiced as he grumbled with irritation. Charlotte’s ears perked up at the sound of the detective’s name, and excitement resounded in her chest. “You know nothin’. You got nothin’.”

“Really?” another man responded, his voice more gruff than the first. “I saw him writing your name down in that black book of his.”

The three of them had found their way to a large entryway, the voices undoubtedly coming from the next room. Charlotte glanced back at her companions, who looked just as ready as she felt.

“‘Lousy cheating shark,’ I think were his exact words,” the detective continued smugly.

Charlotte held up her pointer finger. _One._

“Then he struck the name across three times.”

Another finger. _Two._

“Three strikes? In the black book?” The other voice immediately panicked. “But I never…”

 _Three_.

Without any more prompting, she shot directly into the man guarding Valentine with her rifle, making the lackey yelp with shock and pain. Danse let off a few more rounds as Piper rushed into the room, swinging her pistol around to check for any other armed guards.

Once the single guard had been taken care of, Charlotte carefully stepped around his body and expanding pool of blood with a grimace. It still wasn’t easy killing bonafide human beings, but she had gathered that it was the reality of the Commonwealth. _Kill or be killed._

“Nick?” Piper exclaimed, rushing toward a small window peeking into where the detective was confined. “You okay?”

Looking over the reporter’s shoulder, Charlotte could make out the silhouette of man in a trenchcoat and fedora - _how stereotypically detective_ \- standing in the middle of a well-furnished room.

“Piper?” Nick asked incredulously. “What are you…? Eh, nevermind. We probably got three minutes before they realize muscles-for-brains ain’t coming back. Get this door open.”

Cocking an eyebrow at the salty detective, Charlotte swept her gaze across the room before noticing the monitor in on the far wall. She walked over to it and tapped the enter key, groaning when the words “Password Required” popped up in neon green letters.

“Hey, Nick - do you know the password, by any chance?” Charlotte called out, and she heard him scoff. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ thanks.”

She had only tried hacking a few time since leaving the vault - with varying success. Although the monitors were the same ones she had used pre-war, the software on each one still differed in security, and she never knew how difficult each one would be to hack until she was logged in… or locked out.

“Just give me a minute,” she hissed to her companions, not yet touching the keyboard but already feeling flustered. 

Taking a deep breath, she began to punch at the keys - trying to bypass security measures, trick the software into giving up its passwords - and was both relieved and astonished when new words popped up on the screen.

_ >Password accepted. _

“Thank god,” she huffed under her breath before quickly overriding the door’s controls. The door opened behind her with a hiss, and she turned around with a triumphant grin on her face.

“Nice work, kid,” the detective praised as he stepped out of the room, a lazy smile on his-

_Wait._

Her trigger finger twitched as she repositioned the grip on her gun, mouth going dry instantly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Danse had stiffened, too, with a hostile scowl on his face.

Nick arched the synthetic flesh above his eyes with curious interest, his gaze never leaving Charlotte’s. In return, she could only keep her eyes locked on those unnatural, glowing yellow eyes, a heavy feeling of dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

“You alright, Blue?” Piper asked, placing a hand on her companion’s upper arm. Charlotte couldn’t help but jerk at the contact, fear and confusion making her jumpy.

“What… what?” She couldn’t finish whatever question she tried to form, simply pinned down by the recognizable gaze of a synth. It was unmistakable, sure, but this one’s seemed… altered, somehow. It was unnerving.

“You act like you’ve never seen a synth before,” Nick snorted, crossing his arms. She found herself following the movement of his jaw as he talked, trailing down the line of missing synthetic skin along his neck.

“Why are you… I thought synths were…?” Still rattled from shock, she sighed, looking to Piper for help. The reporter seemed completely at ease in Nick’s presence, however, only serving to confuse the vault dweller more.

Not only that, the synth seemed to be completely self-aware, with emotion and inflection coloring his human-sounding voice. He was remarkably different than the walking skeletons she had encountered the past couple of weeks, with their lifeless voices and ever-bared teeth.

“Look, I know the skin and metal parts ain’t comforting,” Nick said in lieu of Charlotte’s disjointed questioning. “But it’s not important right now.”

“You… are a synth, though. Right?” she inquired, finally forming a complete sentence.

“That, I am.”

Releasing a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, Charlotte turned her head towards her Paladin - her distinctly vicious-looking Paladin.

So… he had known there were synths like this? Ones that were… _human_ _?_ And he _still_ hated them?

“I”m sorry, I-” She stopped short again, still barely grasping the concept of _speaking_. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she tried to let this new reality sink in.

_Not all synths are terrifying. Some are human-like. Some are okay. And... he’s the only chance you have at finding your son. Pull it together, Charlotte._

“I’m fine, sorry,” she apologized again, feeling overwhelmingly foolish now that her panic had dimmed. Danse was practically oozing hostility in response to her apology, to her civility. But now wasn’t the time for whatever he was dying to say, for whatever discussion they _definitely_ needed to have. Right now, they simply needed to get out of this vault alive.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nick said back, yellow eyes still slightly narrowed with suspicion. “The only thing that matters is why you went to all this trouble to cut me loose.”

“It’s complicated,” she muttered, still unnerved by his appearance - but minutely comforted by the natural expression on his grey face. “I need you to find someone, but it’s… complicated,” Charlotte repeated lamely.

 _"Very_ complicated, Nicky,” Piper chimed in.

“I’m sure I can handle it. Somehow ‘nice and simple’ never makes it onto the menu in my world,” he said offhandedly, coaxing a half-smile out of Charlotte. “Anyway, you got trouble, and I’m glad to help. But now ain’t the time. Let’s blow this joint. Then we’ll talk.”

Feeling her shoulders relax with relief, she nodded at the detective. She was calmer now, hope blooming in her chest for the first time in weeks. 

With a real, genuine grin, she said, “That, I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh, and the plot thickens. 
> 
> please continue letting me know what you think! your feedback is my motivation to keep writing :3


	7. Growing Pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey! After TWO MONTHS, a new chapter yayyyyy

_I feel like I am turned inside out_  
_I've come so far I can't turn around_  
_But I don't know the next steps to take_

_-Deas Vail, “Growing Pains”_

* * *

Her rage had multiplied significantly since their encounter with Nick Valentine, barely restrained as it bubbled beneath her skin. She didn’t speak to Danse the entire walk back from Vault 114, too afraid of causing a scene in front of the newly-acquainted detective and Piper. Nor did she speak to him in the crowded detective agency as she explained her situation to Nick and came up with a plan.

So she kept her mouth firmly shut until she pushed into their cramped hotel room, fingernails digging into the palms of her clenched fists with bridled anger.

He paused near the door once it was shut behind him, his expression smoothed into an unreadable, impassive mask. She knew that he was likely angry, as well, but he was definitely hiding it better than she was.

Cocking an eyebrow at her Paladin, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, waiting to see if he would speak first. He didn’t. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she hissed at him, her tone sharp and steely.

“Because it didn’t matter,” he answered evenly, though the tension in his jaw betrayed how strongly he wanted to yell back at her, to lecture until she understood his twisted logic.

Charlotte made an involuntary noise in the back of her throat, rapidly losing her patience. “Of course it mattered - matters. Those synths - Nick is practically human, Danse.”

A flash of fury in his eyes made her heart drop, and Charlotte could feel fear creep into her skull as he straightened his spine, emanating obvious hostility. “They are _abominations_ -”

“So I’ve heard.”

He paused to give her a long, unamused look, mouth thinning into a frustrated line. He was trying to make her squirm. It was working.

“I thought you were starting to understand,” he muttered lowly, practically accusational. His expression was almost wounded, as if she had betrayed him. Despite her overwhelming anger, his obvious disappointment made her chest ache.

“I was,” she forced out, willing her voice not to break. “But this… this changes things.”

“This changes _nothing_.” He stared her down, his dark eyebrows drawing together in frustration. “How can you defend these _things_ so quickly?

Biting her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming with exasperation, Charlotte kept her gaze locked on his in lieu of a response.

“That synth - Nick Valentine,” he continued, though he forced through the detective’s name as if it were bitter in his mouth, as if it were a sin to humanize the detective with a name. “It’s just the same as those gen. one synths we saw at Arcjet. Just because it talks like us doesn’t make it any more human.”

“But _he_ has thoughts,” she argued, pointedly challenging Danse’s dehumanization of the synth. “And feelings. People that care about him, like Piper and Ellie.”

“It’s all artificial, Charlotte,” he emphasized, clearly disappointed. She shrunk back at the sound of her name, almost as if he were her father scolding her for breaking a rule. “All of it.”

“That doesn't mean it can’t be real.”

He inhaled through his nose audibly, a subtle attempt to reign in his rage. “Just think about this rationally,” he said slowly. “They’re just another attempt of men experimenting with technology they can’t control. It’s the same kind of thinking that led to the war.”

“The Great War was caused by a bunch of power-hungry, egotistical leaders who didn’t think twice about any consequences.”

“Exactly.”

“You can’t equate these _synths,”_ she ground out, “to _nuclear bombs._ " She _did_ realize that they were going in circles, around and around, but she couldn’t seem to sate her desire to argue. “You can’t equate Nick Valentine to the warhead that killed my neighbors.”

“Yes, I can,” he fought back. “If the synths reached a point where they outnumbered mankind… how long do you think it would it take for them to consider we were no longer necessary? They certainly possess the ability to make more of their own kind, so we’d become expendable.”

The logic was backwards, paranoid, and likely a word-by-word copy of what he had learned in the Brotherhood. Danse was a loyal soldier, through-and-through.

“Is that really what the Brotherhood believes?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Exhaling heavily, she let her folded arms fall to her sides in defeat. “That’s… I don’t know if I can…” Her words trailed off.

He simply looked at her, waiting for her to continue with an arched eyebrow, but she couldn’t find anything more to say.

The Brotherhood had welcomed her with open arms, offering training and shelter and equipment, showing her a purpose she thought she could follow. They seemed strict but genuine - as did Danse. But this… this _hatred -_ it couldn’t be all there was to the Brotherhood, could it?

“Listen,” she muttered, feeling weary of their relentless bickering. “I should go. I told Nick we could meet up to look for that Kellogg guy.”

“I don’t want you communicating with that… machine, Knight,” Danse said, easily falling back into the part of her commanding officer.

“What - is that an order, Paladin?”

He grimaced at her biting words, unable to prevent his emotions from showing on his face, for once. “Would it matter if it was?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, trapping all the sardonic words she wanted to say but _couldn’t._

“I see.” Something in his stance softened, his entire body deflating as he processed her silence. He was hurt by her dismissal of him, of everything he believed in, and that realization made her chest ache.

“This is...” she began again, her voice substantially smaller. “This is the only chance I have of finding Shaun.”

He exhaled slowly. “You don’t know that, Charlotte.”

At the sound of her name - not _Knight_ nor  _soldier_ \- she felt her whole body flush with anger and frustration and desperation. “So what if I don’t?” she shot back through gritted teeth. “There _may_ be other options out there, but the more time we spend looking for any alternatives, the further I am from finding him!”

She paused. He stared.

“...It seems you’ve made up your mind, then.”

She blinked rapidly, forcing back her traitorous tears.

“It seems I have.”

Without another word from either of them, she quietly grabbed her gear and walked out the door. She didn’t know if Danse would still be there when she got back, but she couldn’t afford to waste time wondering. If she did, she would drown in the grief of losing her only companion, her only confidante - the one person she had come to rely on in only a few short weeks.

Instead, she focused on the beat of her heart, letting her footsteps fall in time with its rhythm.

* * *

“Nick?” she called into the office as she stepped inside. Nick was sifting through one of his many boxes of files, and Charlotte’s voice made him noticeably jump.

“Hey, there you are,” he greeted with a grin. Charlotte tried her hardest not to stare at the artificial sinews that held his face together, but it was still difficult with how new her experience with synths was. “I was worried the Paladin talked you into leaving.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she muttered with a grimace, voice turning sour at the mention of her Paladin.

“Right,” Nick nodded. “You have to find your kid, after all.”

“That’s true, but…” She paused, letting her words trail off into a sigh. “Listen, I wanted to apologize, too - for how I treated you when we first met.”

“Eh, it ain’t the worst reaction I’ve ever had, trust me,” said Nick offhandedly, a stripped metal hand waving away her concern.

“Well, I still want you to know that I’m sorry,” she offered, “and that I don’t share the Paladin’s… prejudice.”

He gave her a thankful smile, nodding at her again. “I'm just surprised you can accept all this so fast,” he said, sounding impressed.

"I was a civil rights lawyer, in my time," she told him. "I guess it's in my nature to fight against injustice."

"Well, I appreciate it," he added sincerely. “Now, let’s go see if we can find Kellogg.”

She made a small noise in agreement, turning back towards the entrance of Nick’s agency. He took the lead, making his way out of the alleyway and directly into the marketplace. As they approached a flight of stairs that lead to a row of houses - one of which _may_ hold the man who kidnapped her son - she couldn’t help the cold panic that settled in her chest.

“Do you really think that Kellogg is the one who took Shaun?” she asked, barely concealing the tremble in her voice.

“Well, nine to one odds says he’s our man. It’s more than just you identifying his distinguishing features. The MO is all him as well,” Nick confirmed, walking over to one of the many doors lining the buildings. “Ah, here we are.”

Without hesitating, Nick pounded his good hand on the door, likely checking to see that no one was inside. His knock was met with silence, prompting the synth to kneel in front of the doorknob and grab a bobby pin from one of his jacket pockets.

“Keep an eye out, will ya? Let’s see if I can get this open.”

Sinking into her hip, Charlotte crossed her arms as Nick began to fiddle with the lock. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing on it anxiously while she waited for the detective to break their way inside. After a few moments, she heard a small snap come from his hands, a muffled curse following the sound.

Pulling out another bobby pin, Nick began his second attempt with a sigh. “So, how did someone like you get caught up in the Brotherhood of Steel?” he said with his back to her. “You don’t seem like the type to take orders from anyone.”

Laughing at his observation, she shook her head. “You’re not wrong,” she answered with a coy smile.

She understood that his attempt at small talk was to distract himself, to relax any tension that could cause him to fail. Although she was wary of his choice of topic, she wasn’t opposed to conversing.

“Well?”

“...It was Danse,” she admitted quietly, cringing at the sound of another bobby pin breaking. As Nick delved back into his pocket, she continued, “He helped me in those first few days out of the vault and offered me a place in the Brotherhood. I didn’t know much about it, except that they wanted to protect humanity.”

Nick chuckled humorlessly, glancing at her from over his shoulder. “And now you know what that means.”

“I… might,” she muttered, shaking her head with exasperation. “They want to stop the Institute. Isn’t that a decent goal?”

“Yeah, it guess it is, but they’re doing it for all the wrong reasons,” the detective clarified. “Your Paladin could tell you as much.”

She felt her heart constrict at Nick’s words, hating how conflicted she felt inside. The Brotherhood was less noble than she had originally thought - that much was clear - but she couldn’t help but feel defensive of Danse. She was angry with him - furious, even - but she hadn’t given up on him yet. There was good in him, a strong sense of justice and a desire to protect. She _couldn’t_ give up on him yet.

If he hadn’t given up on her, that is.

“Danse is…” She found herself trailing off, unsure of how to continue. “He’s not that bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she replied, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. “He’s protected me since the moment we met. He’s just… misguided. His heart’s in the right place. Maybe the Brotherhood is too? But... they’re definitely…”

“Misguided?” the detective repeated coyly, his response followed by another snap. He cursed and stood, his mouth pursing into a thin line. “Eh, why don’t you give it a try?”

“If you can’t pick it, I definitely can’t,” she protested, grimacing at the thought. “I’ve only tried lockpicking twice, at the most.”

“Hm.” The synth paused. “Then I guess we’ll need to find a key.”

* * *

Charlotte stood in front of the hotel room, her hesitant fingertips lingering on the doorknob. She would have to go in eventually, and she knew that, but she was resistant to facing whatever reality lay inside.

After all, there was a strong possibility that the room was vacant, the Paladin having decided she was unsalvageable, a liability to his cause. The thought made her chest ache, the familiar fear of abandonment nauseating her.

She was still angry with him, but she didn’t want…

Inhaling deeply, she turned the handle and pushed inside.

Immediately, she released her held breath into a relieved sigh, some of her anxiety and panic dissipating once she saw him sitting on the hotel bed. His large form was motionless and solid, hunched over his assault rifle as he tinkered with its delicate parts.

Once she entered the room, his dark eyebrows, furrowed in concentration, lofted with surprise. “Charlotte,” he stood to greet her, voice low and even and concealing all emotion. Despite his impassive tone, the sound of her name falling so familiarly from his lips… it soothed her. She was still _Charlotte_ to him, and that was more comforting than he would ever know.

“Danse,” she said back, hating the way her voice raised in pitch with just that single syllable. “Hey.”

He tilted his head to the side, appearing thrown-off by her tentative demeanor. He knew by now that she was exceptionally skilled at hiding any weakness, at projecting false confidence, but under Danse’s intense gaze, Charlotte felt completely off-balance. It was an uncomfortable and foreign feeling, being unable to steady herself in his presence. She had _never_ felt like this with Danse, like he was only moments away from deserting her if she didn't tread carefully. 

“How did it go?” he asked, still not betraying any anger or regret or… _anything._

“Well, I charmed the mayor into giving me a key to Kellogg’s house,” explained Charlotte, feeling a bit of pride swell in her chest. It was immediately smothered, however, when his expression remained unnervingly inscrutable.

“And?”

“We found some old cigars in his house,” she continued, finally managing to mask her unease with matching indifference. “I thought that Dogmeat might be able to track him down.”

"You dismissed him," the Paladin pointed out. “I suppose you'll have to go to Sanctuary to retrieve him, then,” Danse said coolly.

_You. Not we._

Charlotte felt wilted in an instant, her eyes suddenly unable to meet the intensity of his own. Frustration and panic clawed at her insides at his insinuations, and she bit down on her lower lip - hard - to keep her flustered emotions from showing on her face.

Her fury from earlier in the day was dampened by this point, covered by an undeniable desire to reconcile. The anger was still there - he had kept information from her, after all, knowing full well that she was ignorant to the ways of the wasteland - and that conversation was _definitely_ not over. But, for now, a future without him by her side was one she didn’t want to face.

So, she suppressed her anger and swallowed her pride, hesitantly asking him, “Will you come with me?”

Danse blinked at her, an expression of shock breaking his impassive guise. “Nick isn’t going with you?”

Charlotte shook her head, tasting the tang of blood as she continued to abuse her bottom lip. “We’ll meet up later, I’m sure,” she said slowly, hoping to not invoke any irritation from him at the suggestion.

His eyebrows cinched together slightly, but he didn’t press the issue. “And you still want me to accompany you?” It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation, suspicion laced in his words.

“Danse,” she sighed, tilting her chin up to look him straight in the eye. “I know we're both angry right now, but you’re probably the only person in the Commonwealth who actually cares if I live or die.” She felt her heart constrict at her own words, a strange echo resounding in her head. _Who actually cares about me._  “And I don’t… I don’t want to do this without you.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath at her admission, his eyes widening minutely in surprise. “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

He stared at her for a long moment before nodding slowly in acceptance, his expression smoothing out as if indifferent. But his relief was practically palpable, and she was sure hers was, as well. She offered a small smile, and he couldn’t help but return it.

She was upset with him. She was unsure about her future with the Brotherhood. But for right now...

He had her back, and that made everything okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long; I was incredibly stuck on this chapter. I'm just really afraid I'm not characterizing them well, and that I'm doing an awful job of progressing their relationship. I want it to seem like they're getting closer, but I'm terrified I'm not portraying that AT ALL. I'm also afraid Charlotte's personality isn't consistent, thought I'm truly trying to write this story out while still learning about her, myself. 
> 
> PLEASE let me know what you think. Right now, I truly need some feedback, even if it's just "I think you're doing fine!" 
> 
> I don't want to promise anything, but I definitely think the next chapter will be out sooner because I'm just so excited about what's going to happen.
> 
> Love yall.


	8. Safe & Sound

_Just close your eyes, the sun is going down_  
_You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now_  
_Come morning light_  
_You and I'll be safe and sound_

_-Taylor Swift, "Safe & Sound" _

* * *

The hysteria of the nightmare was rapidly fading, the vice-like grip in her chest loosening with every breath. The details of the dream were quickly fleeing, leaving only vague emotions and unease in its wake. She could only guess what it had been about, considering all the trauma she had experienced within only a few short weeks.

Exhaling heavily, she looked across the small hotel room and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She assumed that she had only slept for a few hours, unfortunately, seeing as the sky outside the hotel window was still pitch black.

She knew that she should probably try to go back to sleep, considering that she and Danse were going to be travelling for the majority of tomorrow. But she felt completely awake, now - too keyed-up to even lie back down.

Before she could even consider an attempt, a soft sound caught her attention, making her tense and shuffle to the edge of the bed. Glancing down, she was relieved to see Danse sitting upright on the floor, his large frame propped against the mattress with head lolled to the side and eyes fluttered closed. He was snoring lightly, his deep breaths catching in his throat every so often.

As she observed his relaxed face, she realized that this was the first time she had ever seen the Paladin sleep. He looked younger like this, his normally stern expression smoothed out into something gentler, kinder. She had only seen such softness from him a few times, though never to this degree. She found herself wondering if he _ever_ looked this peaceful when awake - the thought made her want to evoke such a state in him, strangely.

More than anything, Charlotte was thankful that the Paladin was finally getting a bit of decent sleep. She was sure that he had dozed off once or twice whenever he kept watch for her, but it couldn’t have ever been sufficient rest. He was too hard-working, too diligent to survive with so little self-care.

She watched him calmly, soothed by the steady rise and fall of his chest. His lips parted slightly with a sharp exhale, dark eyebrows cinching together with discomfort. Before she could process what was happening, a heavy groan slipped from his mouth, a sound so full of pain and panic that it made her own heart hurt.

It was obvious, now, that Danse was succumbing to his own fears, fists clenched tightly at his sides and teeth gnashing together.

Charlotte had slept beside Nate long enough to know that this was no simple nightmare; it was one evoked by trauma, of death and pain and helplessness.

Her breathing stopped as she debated how to help, mouth constricting with sympathy at the distressed look on his face. She shifted so that she was seated next to him on the floor, careful not to touch him as she did so. Nate had never reacted well to physical contact during his episodes, only able accept her touch when fully conscious again.

She decided to talk to her Paladin, pull him back to the present where she was waiting for him. “Danse,” she hummed softly. “Danse, you’re alright.”

_Nate... it’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe._

He inhaled sharply at her voice, jaw releasing its tension with parted lips.

“That’s right,” she continued. “Everything’s okay, honey.”

The endearment slipped out before she could think about it, though the sweetness of the word seemed to calm him. His head tilted towards her as she spoke, almost as if he were seeking out more of her voice - or perhaps the warmth of her touch.

Hesitantly, slowly, she reached out a hand to him, tentatively brushing her fingers through his dark hair. He sighed with relief, leaning into her hand.

“It’s alright,” she continued softly, encouraged by his response. “You’re alright, Danse. You’re safe.”

_Baby, come back to me. You’re home, Nate. You’re home with me._

He shook his head slightly, mouth twisting into a hard grimace while she continued. His body trembled as he fought his subconscious - small, frustrated sounds coming from the back of his throat.

“Hey,” she soothed, smoothing down his hair with her palm. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

At her touch, his breathing evened out and his shoulders untensed. Even so, she continued to run her fingers through his hair and coo at him until he fell back into deep sleep, his entire body relaxing with a nonsensical murmur. Charlotte sighed heavily, letting her hand fall back into her lap.

Her head fell back against the mattress, eyes fluttering shut. His steady breathing was a comfort as she slipped back into sleep, with Danse’s words flickering through her thoughts right before she fell under.

_We all have our demons._

* * *

It seemed that around every street corner, there was a new set of memories poised to haunt her.

The ruined streets of Boston were only an echo of what they once were, its bustling strength replaced by crumbling bricks and vacant buildings. But despite its ragged, roughened appearance, Charlotte still knew this city like the back of her hand. Her feet had walked these streets more times than she could possibly count - to school, to visit, to work… so much of herself had been built here.

Although she wanted to vent to the Paladin walking beside her - share her memories, her regrets, _herself,_ there hadn’t been any words spoken between them since they left Diamond City, the tension from yesterday’s argument hindering their usual banter. They simply walked side by side in silence, leaving her to stew in one flashback after another.

There was her elementary school, barely standing - and likely filled with ghouls or radroaches. Surprisingly, the swing set was still standing where was once a playground, its rusty chains swinging ominously from the wind.

On her first day of kindergarten, she had been so afraid to leave, so afraid to let go of her father’s hand. But he had pointed to an empty swing across the yard and said, _"_ _Go ahead, Charlie,_ " in that supportive voice of his. The other swing was occupied by a brunette with two short pigtails, her little mouth spread into an squealing grin. _"_ _Don’t you want to go play?_ ”

So she did. Heather - the brunette in pigtails - became one of her first and closest friends, and the two of them had been attached at the hip until Heather’s family moved to Virginia in fourth grade.

For a moment, Charlotte vaguely wondered about Heather. After all, the last time they had seen one another, it was at her and Nate’s wedding in 2072. Had Heather ever married? Did she have children? Was she happy?

With a start, Charlotte realized that these kinds of thoughts were moot. Heather and all of her friends were likely dead by now, just like her father and Nate and everyone else she had ever loved.

In her reminiscent daze, she was unaware when Danse led her down Clarendon Street until she noticed the three grand arches, the tower, the front steps from which she had thrown her bouquet. In an instant, her heart dropped and her stomach lurched.

_Nate was laughing, elated, the stress-lines from war not yet ingrained in his skin. He kissed her on the mouth again, and she was unable to stifle her own giggle. Not that she wanted to._

Pressing a hand over her heart, Charlotte tried to physically stop the aching in her chest. She didn’t want to remember this, she didn’t want to relive this, she didn’t want-

_The Wedding March blared behind them as they ran out the chapel, hand-in-hand, followed by a herd of their friends and family. She could feel Nate looking at her face, unable to take his eyes off of his new bride, and it made her already-flushed cheeks deepen a shade or two._

She could practically hear the organ as they passed Trinity Church, its beauty dimmed by time and nuclear fallout - but still beautiful, nonetheless.

  _"_ _Mrs. Nathan Haywood?” he asked her as they paused at the steps._

_"Yes, my dear husband?” his blushing bride replied._

_"I love you.” He took her left hand and kissed the ring he had just placed on her finger, a gesture so sweet that she was afraid she would start crying all over again. “I love you more than anything, Charlotte-”_

“Charlotte?”

The voice - so much deeper and rougher than Nate’s - served to jerk her from the memory. Turning to acknowledge her Paladin, she realized that she was standing in place, her hesitation likely confusing him a great deal.

“Oh, sorry,” she murmured, throat tight. “I’m fine,” she answered the question he hadn’t asked aloud, though the worry on his face remained.

“You…” he said under his breath, voice trailing off. His expression, which had remained stoic and unforgiving all morning, softened as he watched her. Hesitantly, one of his large, power-armored hands reached out towards her face but stopped just shy of touching.

She brushed her hand against her cheek, fingertips catching fallen tears.

“Oh.”

“...Are you injured?”

The question made her smile despite herself. Danse _would_ ask that when she was crying, even when they were angry with one another.

However, she couldn’t seem to find any anger remaining within herself - _or_ in his eyes.

“No,” she answered after a long pause, her answer relieving some of the tension in his jaw. “This is just affecting me so much more than I thought it would.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What is?”

“This,” she gestured to the ruins around her. “Boston. But I’ll be okay; let’s just keep going.”

“If you’re sure,” he told her.

She answered by putting one foot in front of the other, continuing down the street as Danse followed her lead. Their conversation stopped as they walked down a few more blocks, surrounded by a silence that was no longer uncomfortable.

She knew that she should be focused, considering that an enemy could creep up on them at any moment. But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering as they passed the familiar buildings.

Only a few blocks later, she found her attention drawn to the Massachusetts State House as it came into view, its golden dome still towering above all the nearby buildings. Pressing her lips together, she let the many memories she had made in that building flood back to her. She had visited plenty of times, both in her childhood and adult life.

“You can talk about it, if you’d like,” Danse murmured softly at her side, likely noticing her focus had strayed again.

She was surprised by his offer, even with how amicable he had been only moments ago. Maybe he was tired of walking in silence, just as she was. Maybe he missed her voice? Regardless, it seemed that neither of them wanted their… _disagreement_ to ruin what they were building together, though it was likely to cause complications in the future. Charlotte chose to not think about that, for now.

“...I’m just remembering going on a field trip to the State House in… ah - second grade?” She paused, struggling to remember. “I’m almost positive I thought about lunch the whole time. There’s a park up ahead, and we were allowed to have a picnic there after the tour. I guess I was too excited to pay attention.”

Danse smiled, eyes darting to look at her. “You didn’t listen _at all?"_

Scoffing, Charlotte turned her face away from his amused expression. “My dad packed me a really nice lunch, okay?”

His only response was a low chuckle, one that made heat flood to her cheeks.

“I was  _eight!"_ she argued, defiantly pushing against his shoulder when he laughed again. Danse didn’t budge at all in his power armor, of course, but the sentiment was there.

“Right.”

As their conversation naturally trailed off, Charlotte took a moment to glance down at her Pip-Boy, checking the small map installed onto the device. They were still on course, heading east - back to the Prydwen.

“Are you sure we’ll make it to Sanctuary by nightfall?” she asked.

“I see no reason why we shouldn’t,” he responded.

Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she glanced at the Paladin with narrowed eyes. “I still don’t understand why we can’t go straight there.” Although she knew that a few extra hours wouldn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things, her restlessness would not be annoyed.

He glanced at her, exasperated. “If Kellogg is involved with the Institute, Elder Maxson should know,” Danse explained indifferently. “We should also gather the necessary equipment before pursuing him.” It was the same reasoning he had offered that morning at the hotel, almost verbatim.

“Alright,” she relented with a sigh. “I guess that’s fair.”

“...And,” Danse spoke again, eyes hesitantly meeting hers, “if he truly knows where Shaun is, we can’t afford to be reckless.”

She couldn’t help but stumble on her next step, the warmth in his words taking her completely off-guard. He was worried about _Shaun?_  After she had regained her steady pace, she looked over to him, noticing the slight red tint in his cheeks.

She must have been staring, because after a moment, he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Ah, is this the park you were talking about?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, turning to look across the large, fenced-in expanse of dead grass. Just like everything else in Boston, the area was now haggard and lackluster, but there was no mistaking what it was. The gazebo was still standing, as was the large pond in the middle. Charlotte could even make out one of those cute swan boats she had always wanted to ride floating in the middle of the pond.

“Would you like to walk through?” he asked, nodding towards the gate. “I detect a great amount of radiation near the gazebo, but walking along this path should be fine.”

“I’d love to,” she said.

Together, they trailed along the fence around the park to get to the entrance, most of its metal intact, if not warped. As they walked, she noticed the long line at her feet - the Freedom Trail, if she recalled correctly. She had been forced to follow the Trail on multiple field trips, after all.

When they made it to the gate, she spotted of the first of many plaques pressed into the concrete. Oddly enough, the plaque had been graffiti-ed with red paint - the letter _A?_  Her curiosity was piqued, but there was no explanation for the paint that she could immediately see. So, she made a mental note in her head before hurrying after the Paladin into the park.

“I used to come here after classes to study,” she mused aloud, enjoying the shade and breeze from under the deadened trees. “Nate would join me sometimes, but he was usually more of a distraction than anything else.” She laughed under her breath at the memory, shaking her head.

The path turned slightly to the left, curving along the edge of the pond. She gazed across the murky water to the mangled swan boat, laughing again. “He would always try to convince me to ride in one of those silly little boats, but only kids ever rode in them,” she explained to Danse, who had a small smile on his face as she rambled. “And I was a teenager, insecure enough to care.”

“Really?” he asked. “I can’t even imagine you like that.”

“Puberty isn’t nice to anyone,” she shot back with a quirk of her lips.

She paused, glancing back over at the swan boat, her face falling.

“...I should have just ridden one.”

She muttered the words, her tone full of regret and self-loathing. Kicking a stray rock into the water, she stopped walking just to watch the resulting ripples.

Sensing her hesitation, Danse paused to stare at _her,_  likely trying to gauge her thoughts. He inhaled slowly before opening his mouth to speak, “Knight, are you-?”

He stopped when her expression changed, her caramel-colored eyes widening as the ripples tripled in size and frequency. “Danse, what-?”

A low groan, deep and drawn-out, interrupted her words. The two of them watched in awe as the swan boat began to rise out of the water, the menacing groans increasing in volume. Before they could process what they were witnessing, a behemoth towered above them, its face twisted in simple rage. Along with a bit of makeshift armor, it swung around the swan boat on its arm and dragged an anchor by its chain - both weapons, of some kind.

“Damnit,” she muttered, reflexively aiming her rifle up at the monster’s forehead. Danse mirrored the motion from her side, making a small noise of agreement.

Before they could say anything more, the behemoth let out an ear-splitting roar and charged.

“ _Move!_ ” Danse barked at her, rushing out of its path. Charlotte ran the other way, feeling the ground shake from the impact of the monster’s attack.

“What do we do?” she yelled as she ducked behind a tree trunk. “We don’t exactly have a vertibird this time, do we?”

“Just _shoot,”_ she heard him call back.

_Helpful._

Steeling herself for a split second, she whipped out of cover to see the monster slashing at Danse, who was trying his best to stay out of its way. With a sharp inhale, Charlotte rapidly aimed and unloaded her clip, hitting the behemoth directly in the back. It screamed in agony, turning its attention away from Danse and locking its gaze onto her.

It charged at her with abandon, swinging its arm upwards, high above her head. Before she could even think to move out of the way, the creature brought its forearm down, swiping the boat horizontally through the air and crashing it heavily into her side.

With breath crushing out of her lungs at the impact, her body crumpled sideways and flew across the park, landing heavily in the grass a few feet away.

She could vaguely hear Danse scream out her name in a panic, but his voice barely registered in her flustered brain. An all-consuming, white-hot pain laced along the entire left side of her body, from her thigh to her ribcage to her upper arm, burning through any and all rational thought. It even took her a moment to realize she wasn’t breathing, white spots dancing across her vision until she forced in a small breath.

While attempting to gather her aggravated thoughts, she also tried to move from her vulnerable position on the ground. _I definitely have a broken rib or two_ , she considered, pain jolting through her side as she shifted. Bracing her uninjured forearm against the ground, she managed to push herself upright and assess the damage. Despite the pain, she was still conscious and breathing, and she didn’t seem to be bleeding, which was a plus. _No punctured lung, no serious brain damage, no open wounds._

Understanding that she was completely useless in this state, she threw her left arm blindly behind her, ignoring its aching protests, and strained to reach into her backpack. Her fingers dug into the pocket where she kept her first aid, seeking out the familiar shape of a stimpak.

Her hand came back empty. “Oh,” she muttered softly, cold dread crawling up her spine.

Whipping her head up, she looked around frantically, gaze landing on her Paladin from across the park. Danse was distracting the behemoth with his own bullets, trying to keep its attention away from his fallen partner.

Even though she wanted to seize up from panic, she knew that she needed to assist him in any way she could. From where she was stuck on the ground, she reached out for her fallen rifle and aimed, releasing a few deafening rounds into the back of the super mutant’s head.

Both the Paladin and the behemoth paused to look over at where she was sprawled on the ground, teeth gritted in pain and right arm shaking from the simple exertion of steadying her gun.

Seconds later, she saw his expression twist in horror, dark eyes widening with panic. From that reaction, Charlotte could only guess that she looked as awful as she felt.

Then the creature was turning, lumbering back towards her - though considerably slower than last time due to its injuries. Before she had time to panic, the small explosions went off around the behemoth’s feet, making it yell out with pain.

Looking over to where Danse had taken cover, Charlotte could see him pull out the multitude of explosives he stored in his pack. The Paladin was ruthless, continuing to light into the creature with his rifle while simultaneously assaulting it with explosions.

With a start, Charlotte shook herself out of her shock and joined the attack, shooting clip after clip into the super mutant. After what felt like an eternity, a well-placed frag grenade knocked the behemoth off its feet. It fell to the ground with a solid thud that shook the ground beneath her.

Both her and the Paladin continued to shoot at the fallen behemoth, making sure that it was going to stay down before they felt safe enough to stop.

It was only moments later that the Paladin was rushing over to where she was stuck on the ground, her arms collapsing at her side from fatigue.

“What are you _doing?”_ he reproached her, kneeling down to better examine her injuries. “Why haven’t you _healed-_ ”

“I must have run out before we got to Diamond City,” she explained, grimacing as he lifted her chin with a gentle touch. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t worry about that,” he told her, reaching into his own supplies. “I think I have a couple more - ah, here we go,” he said, pulling out two familiar syringes.

“Two?”

His eyes narrowed, lips pursing with worry. “You’ll need them both.”

“Okay,” she nodded, lifting her left arm slightly so he could inject them where the boat had struck.

Instantly, the areas around the injections bloomed with warmth, blissfully burning away the pain. Even so, she understood why he gave her more than one - even with two doses, she still didn’t feel completely alright. But with luck, that would be enough for her to get to the Prydwen.

Throwing the used syringes into the grass, he cradled her shoulders as she struggled to sit up.

“Danse,” she murmured as he continued to assist her, “did it get you?”

“Negative,” he responded, “but that’s not for lack of trying.” He steadied her as she struggled onto her knees, still trying to catch her breath.

“That’s good. I-”

But before she could finish her thought, a long, loud groan cut her off, filling her with an ominous sense of dread.

The two of them glanced over to where the super mutant had fallen, watching in horror as the creature staggered back onto its feet. Charlotte could tell that it was on its last leg, but even in its poor condition, she knew that it was still more than capable of killing them both.

“Damnit,” she hissed as she swayed on her knees. “What does it take to-”

“Stay here and collect yourself,” Danse interrupted her with a sharp order, not taking his eyes off of their stubborn enemy. “I’ll keep it distracted until you’re back in commission.”

“Don’t you dare-” she began to protest, but he was already dashing away from her.

She could only watch helplessly as Danse dove back into the fray, shooting mercilessly into the straggling behemoth. He was relentless in his attacks, obviously frustrated, though the creature was just as determined, driven by mindless rage.

Thankfully, Danse was surprisingly agile in his power armor, managing to dodge the behemoth’s slower attacks. By the time Charlotte had made it onto her feet, he had unloaded multiple clips into the monster without being hit once.

But before she could take a single step on her shaky legs, the monster screamed terribly and swung it arm around himself, throwing his anchor far beyond its reach. The long chain clotheslined Danse across the abdomen, knocking him flat onto his back.

She could hear his power armor groan in protest, even from across the park.

Her mouth fell open as the behemoth lumbered towards the fallen Paladin, the creature lifting the swan boat and striking it down directly into Danse’s chest plate. She could feel his name ripping from her lips at the impact, panic clawing at her throat.

Then she was stumbling forward with rifle in shaking hands, this time from fury and fear, when the behemoth reached out and picked Danse up effortlessly.

It _threw_ him.

Danse landed heavily into the dirt, immobile even moments after, and she could swear her heart stopped.

“ _No!”_ she screamed brokenly, pain forgotten as she charged forward. Her eyes remained locked on the behemoth in her path, vision engulfed by red from the weight of her rage. “You _fucking bastard!”_

She was shooting into the creature then, into every exposed piece of flesh she could see. Heedless of the danger, she rushed past its legs and bashed the butt of her rifle into its shin, followed by its Achilles tendon. It roared in agony and staggered backwards, outwardly shocked by the power of her strike.

 _I really need to invest in a melee weapon,_  she thought offhandedly, dashing out of the monster’s reach.

Once she had moved a decent distance away, she threw a plasma grenade - one of her favorites,might she add - at the stumbling behemoth’s feet. With the explosion, the creature howled and came crashing down, its arms struggling to push its gigantic body upright.

Fuming, she continued to shoot at the dying creature, running towards it with bared teeth until she was at point-blank range. Only moments later, she heard the dull click that signaled an empty chamber, having run completely out of ammo.

She didn't pause for a single moment, however, the adrenaline and fear within her pushing her to continue. Gracelessly clamoring onto the creature’s chest, she whipped her unloaded gun directly into its face with a sickening thud. She repeated the action - over and over and _over_ \- until her arms were screaming in protest, until the super mutant beneath her was silent, until her rage was satisfied.

Reeling backwards with heaving breaths, she stared down at the bloody mess _she_ had caused, the behemoth’s once-distinct features broken and mutilated. It was jarring, knowing that she was capable of such simple brutality - but also knowing she held so much _strength_ within her slight body. She was both proud and frightened, a strange mix of emotion that settled heavily within her.

And then she remembered as the adrenaline rush faded-

_Danse._

“Oh, god,” she hissed, turning to sprint in his direction. He hadn't moved from where he had fallen, pieces of his power armor scattered around him, leaving only the stripped frame on his body. “Danse?”

As she approached him, she only had a good view of his head, though it was not a pretty sight. His face was already purpling from aggravated bruising, not to mention the places where the skin was split and bleeding. His always-expressive eyes were closed and refused to open, provoking her panic. She wanted so badly to stop for a moment and cry, but she knew that she had to keep a level head, for his sake.

Falling to her knees beside him, she reached out to touch his throat with a trembling hand. She practically crumpled with relief when she felt his pulse against her fingers, its rhythm faint but present.

“Let’s get you out of this,” she told him, not knowing if he could even hear her but not really caring. It made her feel better to pretend he could, to anticipate a response from his pale lips. Tugging at what was left of his power armor, she heard a soft sigh escape his mouth, followed by an agitated groan.

“Don’t…” he mumbled softly, eyelids fluttering open to look at her. She couldn't help but pause as he stared, brown eyes just as intense as ever, even when hazy and unfocused.

“What?” she asked.

“Don’t leave my armor,” he told her, and she almost screamed. _That’s_ what he’s concerned about?

“It’s completely trashed,” she told him, trying her hardest not to succumb to panic as she unlatched the chest plate, terrified of what she might find underneath. “If you’re going to be stubborn about it, you can just have mine. I _do_ have armor, right?”

He let out a sound that was likely a laugh, and it served to lift her spirits minutely. “Yes, you have armor.”

“Good. Now, come on and help me. I need to look at the rest of you,” she said. When he obliged, she had to stifle a grimace at all the red stains she saw soaking through his clothing. “...You don’t have any more stimpaks, do you?”

He shook his head, pressing a hand to his forehead when the motion made him dizzy.

“Try not to move too much,” she ordered, lightly pressing against his shoulder for emphasis. “You probably have a concussion, as well as… _other_ injuries.”

“Ah,” he breathed, never taking his unwavering gaze off of her face.

“Some of the warped metal from your armor must have cut into your chest,” she said softly, voice starting to tremble as she brushed her fingers along a tear in his shirt. Underneath, she could clearly see a long gash slowly leaking blood, the sight of it making her lightheaded. She wasn’t squeamish in the slightest, but there was so much  _blood_ _..._ It was enough to make her want to vomit - if only from hysteria alone.

She forced in a slow breath, letting it out just as slowly.

Reaching into her pack, she pulled out a few random pieces of clothing she had picked up during their travels, ripping them into long strips. “Let me see if I can stop the bleeding. I need to…”

“You’re hurt,” he interrupted gently. She wanted to pull away when he reached out with a bare hand, thrown-off by his impossibly tender expression, but she felt frozen under his gaze. She let him touch her, his calloused thumb running along her bottom lip gingerly. Her mouth fell open automatically at the slight pressure, his touch evoking a twinge of pain and making her grimace. When he pulled away, his skin was smeared with her blood.

“I don’t matter right now,” she told him, grabbing his blood-stained hand and pushing it into her lap. “I don’t…” She was so close to crying, to releasing all the fearful, fitful tears that burned behind her eyelids.

“Don’t ever say that,” he countered, that ridiculously soft expression still on his face, even as he scolded her. “You _always_ matter.”

“Oh-” she exhaled, feeling like she had lost the ability to breathe. “You…”

He simply touched her face again, fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, and she relished in the faint warmth from his hand. Her heart was practically breaking as she looked down at him, as she felt that warmth, as she thought of _losing_ him and his warmth forever.

“...We’ve got to get you help,” she said resolutely, pressing her lips together to stem her emotions. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” he said with no hint of hesitation. He always had to put on a brave front.

Glancing down at her Pip-Boy, she pulled up the map and tried to find someplace she could take him, someplace she could lay him down and keep him alive.

“There!” she said, pressing her pointer finger against the little green icon. “Goodneighbor is really close by, right?”

Danse scowled, shaking his head slightly. “Not Goodneighbor.”

“Why?” she practically exclaimed, voice rising in pitch. “They’ll have shops and medicine-”

“There’s _nothing_ good to be found there,” he said forcefully. “It’s a town full of thieves and murderers and-”

“And medicine!”

“- _and_ I’m sure that we can-”

“Can you just stop being so _stubborn_ for once?” she ground out, throat constricting from the promise of a sob. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you die!” she cried, fat tears finally escaping her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

He blinked at her for a moment, her outburst stunning him into silence.

She grabbed one of the strips of cloth with shaking fingers, tightly wrapping it around the wound on his chest to stave off the bleeding. “ _Please._  Let me help you.” He remained speechless as she continued tending to his more obvious injuries, focusing on her reddened eyes and falling tears and parted lips.

“...Alright.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, she shifted her watery gaze to look at his face. She was practically trembling from relief, though she forced herself onto shaky knees.

“But you have to promise to heal your injuries, as well,” he said, gaze flickering along her bruised, exposed flesh.

Truthfully, she had completely forgotten about her own pain, though she knew she would _definitely_ be feeling it later. “Sure, I will,” she agreed. Whatever it took to get him to Goodneighbor. “But only after you’re okay.”

Her Paladin nodded, looking relieved, himself. She offered her hand for him to take, and he quietly placed his roughened palm in hers.

“I’ve got you,” she promised. “You can lean on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's been hectic, as always. And that last scene reeeaaaallly got away from me (it was like 10 pages long, damn). 
> 
> And as always, let me know what you think. I love you guys <3


	9. Another New World

_I won’t call it rescue that brought me back here_  
_To the old world to drink and decline_  
_And pretend that the search for another new world  
_ _Was well worth the burning of mine_

_-Punch Brothers, “Another New World”_

* * *

Goodneighbor was practically impossible to miss.

By the time she caught sight of those gaudy neon signs, Charlotte was nearly supporting the entire weight of her Paladin, their pace significantly slowed. Thankfully, Danse had managed to stay conscious and keep his legs moving despite his injuries, but he was worsening with every moment on his feet.

Together, they hobbled through the entrance, its beaten metal door emphasized by a neon arrow. She knew they weren’t out of the woods yet - they still had to find someone, _anyone_ that would help - but she still sighed, relieved.

“Alright,” she breathed, barely able to find her voice through exhaustion. Pausing for a moment, she glanced over at Danse’s pale face, noting his pronounced grimace. “Are you alright to keep moving? Should we sit for-?”

“Hold up there,” someone interrupted, tearing her concentration away from the Paladin. “First time in Goodneighbor?” the stranger asked, a shady man with voice like gravel on sandpaper. “Can’t go walking around without insurance,” he concluded, eyes raking over her wounded partner. “Especially with your pal in such bad shape.”

His fingers flicked at a beaten lighter, igniting the cigarette dangling between his teeth. He breathed in, tightening his smirking lips around the cigarette - his whole demeanor casual, unconcerned as he waited for her to respond.

As for her? She was exhausted and wounded - not to mention frightened as Danse deteriorated at her side - and now this _asshole_ had the nerve to…

“Back off,” she hissed, hating how weak the threat sounded. She readjusted Danse’s weight against her body, trying to make herself appear taller. “I’m not the type to need _insuranc_ _e,_  trust me,” she said bitingly.

“Charlotte,” she heard Danse breathe into her ear - a soft warning to stay calm, to stay rational.

“Now, don’t be like that,” the man said coolly, though Charlotte didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed with irritation. “I think you’re gonna like what I have to offer.”

“I highly doubt that,” she shot back, not budging a single inch. She could only hope that she seemed intimidating - it’s what she was going for, after all - but she had a sinking feeling that this man was not convinced. She probably looked more like a kicked puppy than anything else - growling but defenseless.

“If you know what’s good for you, honey,” he started darkly, eyebrows furrowing with annoyance, “you’ll hand over everything you got in them pockets, or ‘accidents’ will start happenin’ to ya. Big, bloody ‘accidents.’” He paused for a moment, gaze sliding back over to Danse. With a cruel, cold grin, he added, “Bet you know all about those, eh?” He nodded in the Paladin’s direction, not bothering to dilute his arrogance.

Hackles raising, she felt her patience stretch alarmingly thin. By this point, if she wasn’t being used as a human crutch, she probably would’ve decked this bastard by now. “Just get out of my way, asshole,” she snarled, completely disregarding his threats.

 _“Charlotte,”_ Danse hissed again, his own body tensing as the stranger’s composure slipped away.

His lip curled up with distaste, fury flashing in his eyes. “Now, listen here-”

“No, _you_ listen, _honey,”_ she said sharply, feeling something snap within her. “I’m tired and hurt, but don’t think _for one second_ that would stop me from striking you down,” she threatened. Something much have changed in her demeanor, because she finally saw a flicker of fear cross his features.

His mouth opened as if he wanted to argue, to regain the upper hand, but she didn’t give him the opportunity.

“I just beat a behemoth into the ground with _this-”_ She lifted her assault rifle like a trophy, showing him the bloody evidence of her savagery, “-but you’ll be _much_ easier to kill, _trust me.”_

The man’s eyes opened comically wide, unable to smother his shock. She felt a smug sense of satisfaction flood through her at his expression, even as Danse hissed at her to _stop, Charlotte._

“Woah, woah. Time out,” a lighthearted voice interrupted. “You know better. Someone steps through the gate for the first time, they’re a guest.”

Charlotte wanted to curse and yell, exasperated by these incessant distractions. Whipping her head to “greet” their newest arrival, she snarled, “I don’t have _time-”_

Then she faltered, her own choked gasp cutting off her words. And just like that, she had forgotten how to speak. How to _breathe._

Because right in front of her was a _zombie,_ one of those ghastly ghouls - beating at her bones, biting at her skin.

Judging by the noise that came from Danse’s chest, she figured he was just as unsettled as she was. Without hesitation, Charlotte twitched her gun at the ghoul, barely able to lift it higher than her waist with only one arm. But the barrel was pointed at its chest, and that was all that mattered. She _still_ didn’t have any ammo, but it didn’t _know_ that.

...Not that it was looking at her, anyways. If the creature noticed her hostility, it definitely didn’t show it.

“What do you care?” the original stranger asked, seemingly unruffled by the ghoul’s appearance. “She ain’t one of us.”

The ghoul crossed its arms - an unmistakably human gesture. It made no move to lunge at the man, no hint of savagery in its posture. No - if anything, it appeared... civil.

“No love for your mayor, Finn?” it asked, the normality of its voice making her gun-arm falter. “I said let her go.” The ghoul stopped, grinned  She thought she saw its gaze flicker over to her, but she couldn't be sure. Its pupils were practically the same color as the rest of his eyes. “Besides, I don't think she's the kind you want to fuck with.”

Disregarding its praises, she could still barely process its first statement. _Mayor?_ Well, the ghoul was certainly _dressed_ like a mayor, its tattered clothing outdated but extravagant.

“You’re soft, Hancock,” Finn spat back, rolling his eyes. “You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there’ll be a new mayor.”

As _Hancock_ shook... _his_ head, a smile pulling at his mouth, Charlotte felt unease settle in her gut. Lowing her rifle, she whispered to Danse, “This ghoul… Danse, it isn’t like the others.”

“Come on, man,” Hancock said to Finn, continuing to ignore the two outsiders. “This is _me_ we’re talking about.”

“Not all ghouls are feral, Charlotte,” Danse murmured back, weak voice tinged with exasperation, almost as if he were tired of explaining such simple concepts to her.

 _Goddamn it._ Charlotte felt the urge to scream, but knew this wasn’t the time or place to lose her head - even if the Paladin _did_ deserve it.

_What else don’t I know, Danse? What else are you keeping from me?_

“Let me tell you something,” Hancock continued, interrupting her disturbing thoughts as he stepped towards Finn, expression primal and predatory. Charlotte tensed, knowing exactly what was coming next.

Moments later, Hancock whipped out a switchblade, sinking it swiftly into the soft flesh of Finn’s abdomen - twice, thrice - until Finn fell to the ground with a sickening _thud._

“Now why’d you have to go and say that? Breaking my heart over here,” Hancock said to the dead man, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Charlotte was speechless, completely rooted to the spot as the ghoul’s gaze landed on her.

“You all right, sister?” he asked, his tone so much softer than before. He stepped towards the two of them, frowning as he got a better look at Danse’s haggard state.

“I…” was the only word she could manage, mind muddied by exhaustion and pain and confusion and _everything._

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hancock assured her, though the words weren’t very assuring coming from a ghoul’s mouth, especially as his fingers still dripped with red. “I can see you’re a little shaken. Need some help?”

_Help. Right._

“We, ah-” she tried again, feeling like she was speaking through a mouthful of cotton. “We ran out of stimpaks.”

“I can help with that,” Hancock said, his lipless mouth curving into a grin.

“Just like that?” she asked, slowly collecting her thoughts.

“Yeah, Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people. You feel me?” Hancock explained. “Everyone’s welcome.”

She nodded, almost laughing aloud at the statement. _It’s like he came out of a history book._ “I appreciate it… um, Hancock.”

“It’s what I do,” he said, offering a slight bow. “You need a hand with him, sister?” he asked, gesturing towards her fuming Paladin.

“Don’t touch me,” Danse growled in response, his usual composure lost to pain.

Hancock lifted the flesh where an eyebrow should be, glancing back at Charlotte inquisitively.

“Ignore him,” she ground out, glaring at the Paladin.

 _“Knight,”_ he warned, dark eyes narrowing at her.

“Danse,” she hissed back, turning her gaze to her wounded companion. “You’re _hurt,"_  she told him, narrowing her eyes, “and he’s willing to _help.”_

Danse opened his mouth as if to continue arguing, but something in her expression must have given him pause. Maybe it was the anger, the irritation from her fight with Finn, the frustration at Danse for keeping her in the dark _again_. Or maybe it was the desperation, the fear she felt seeping out of her pores, the fear that her Paladin wouldn’t survive the day. Whatever the reason, his mouth snapped shut, not offering acceptance but not fighting back, either.

Turning back to Hancock, Charlotte said, “Just tell me where we need to go.”

“No problem,” the ghoul said, not at all fazed by Danse’s hostility. He waved at the two of them, turning to walk through the haggard marketplace. “Follow me.”

* * *

Her fingers brushed along the splintered handrail, leaving behind three long lines in the dust and grime. She trailed behind Hancock as they moved up the familiar spiral staircase, centuries old but still distinct in her memory.

___ Heather ran ahead of her, stomping up the stairs as Charlotte kept close behind. Her best friend’s hair flew out behind her, having abandoned her youthful pigtails for a single braid, mousy brown and reaching her shoulder blades. _

___ Somewhere from the floor below, their teacher called out - _

___ “Behave, ladies!” _

___ But the two of them paid no heed, rushing forward blindly and carelessly, excited to discover whatever was in store for them. _

Heather’s laughter, her teacher’s words - they were only distant echoes within these walls, existing only in her mind. Everyone she had ever known, ever loved… they were long gone, now. She was six-hundred years too late to reminisce. Six-hundred years too late to appreciate what she had when she had it.

In a daze, Charlotte collided with Hancock’s back, unaware that the ghoul had stopped walking. She murmured a hasty apology, forcing herself back to the present.

She glanced around the large room, flickering ghosts of a grand dining room, red velvet curtains, a gold accented chandelier - she shook her head against the memories, facing the reality of _now_.

Hancock sprawled himself across a dingy red couch, many shades dirtier than the delicate curtains once lining the windows. Planks of wood covered these windows, blocking out the sunlight the room so desperately needed. And on the blasé coffee table - a multitude of chems, a striking antithesis to the Old State House’s classy past.

“Something wrong, sister?” Hancock asked, inhaling a puff of Jet. He exhaled slowly, contentedly tossing the canister back onto the table. Charlotte blinked for a moment at him, eyes unable to look away from his pocketed skin. She still couldn’t help it, staring at the strangeness of him - though she believed her poker face to be... decent.

“I… no.”

She didn’t want to explain her thoughts, didn’t know if she _could_. So, she kept her melancholy thoughts to herself and pointedly switched the subject.

“How is he doing?”

“Dr. Amari is one of the best,” Hancock told her, offering his unsettling, ghoul-y smile. “She’ll take care of him for you, don’t worry. But he’ll be out of commission for a while.” He stopped, his black gaze dragging along her body - the entire length of her. She squirmed, trying not to shiver at the way he unnerved her. “Though you need some attention, yourself.”

“Oh, right,” she murmured, cursing herself for jumping to conclusions. She rolled her neck in response, grimacing at the popping sounds it made. “I forgot.”

“We’ll get you fixed up,” he told her.

She briefly wondered what his hospitality could cost her, monetarily or otherwise - but right now, the thought of painlessness was singular in her mind. So, she simply said, “Thank you.”

After a moment of silence, Charlotte averted her eyes, trying to stop herself from gawking at the ghoul. Just because she knew he wasn’t going to rip out her jugular (with his teeth) didn’t mean she was comfortable with him yet. He _was_ a ghoul after all, and the only other ghouls she had known were slightly less… civil. Thankfully, her unease didn’t seem to bother Hancock in the slightest - or he didn’t let his offense show. Either way, she was grateful he didn’t bring it up.

“So,” he continued, and when she glanced back over at him, the ghoul was smirking. “Who’s this guy to you? Your lover? Boyfriend?”

_Damn, this man is anything but subtle._

“He’s not my-” she sputtered, unable to fight the flush that crawled up her neck. _God, I’m too old to be blushing like a schoolgirl._ “We’re partners,” she said, voice pointedly less shrill. “Friends.”

“Ah, right,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

The question had caught her off guard, for sure, though not necessarily due to embarrassment. That _was_ a factor, sure - but she hadn’t even thought of her Paladin in that way. Hadn’t considered _anyone_ but Nate as her… _lover_ _,_ not for a long time. She was _married_ \- a _wife._

“I didn’t mean to fluster you,” Hancock said when she didn’t respond, a vague apology. “You two just seem really close.”

“We are,” she assured him, pressing her lips together. “He may be the only friend I have out here.”

“Right, right,” he nodded. “Being from a vault, and all.”

She made a sound of agreement, shifting her weight onto one leg and crossing her arms. Immediately, she cringed at the soreness in the muscles there, at the bruises that covered every inch of skin hidden beneath her clothes.

“Ah - let me get you a couple stimpaks,” he said, standing. “Want any chems to take the edge off?”

“Wait, Hancock-” she interrupted, remembering something _very_ important. “I don’t have a lot of caps,” she explained, biting her lip with discomfort. “I think I’ll have enough for Danse-” _Barely._ “-but not for me. I think I’ll be alright, though. Don’t worry.”

Even as she said the words, her entire body flared with pain, protesting her words immediately. But what could she do? Scavenging and searching for Shaun didn’t exactly bring in much income, and she couldn’t impose on Hancock’s kindness any further.

...If he would even let her, that is.

“You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, sister,” Hancock said, clicking his tongue. “You’re hurt, no hiding it.” The ghoul paused for a second, a slow grin showing off his teeth. Charlotte barely managed to suppress a shiver, imagining those teeth sinking into her skin with a feral growl, lipless mouth pulled into an angry scowl. “Besides, I think your friend would kill me if he woke up and saw you were still in such bad shape.”

“But, I…”

“If you’re so worried about paying me back,” he interrupted, “you can help me out with a little problem I’m dealing with. I’d consider that a fair trade.”

In truth, all she wanted to do was curl into a tiny ball and sleep until the ache in her bones was gone. But Hancock was giving her a way out, a way to accept his generosity without feeling indebted to him. She didn’t know what this “little problem” entailed, sure - but who was she to refuse his offer?

“Are you sure I can help?” she asked slowly, almost as if she were testing the waters - what did he want from her, how did he expect her to help? “I’m… just a housewife.”

“I think I recall you saying you beat a behemoth to death with an empty rifle,” he pointed out, his smile sharpening. _Feral_. “So, yeah. I’m sure.”

She swallowed thickly, trying to keep the tremble out of her skin. This was the first time in a while she had been without Danse - with a _ghoul,_  no less - and she was surprisingly unsettled. Perhaps she had come to rely on the Paladin more than she thought.

“Alright,” she finally accepted, trying to keep her voice even. “Where do we start?”

* * *

Danse lounged on the bed with a hard-set grimace, keeping his gaze trained on the town past the window. _Goodneighbor._ Truthfully, this was the last place on Earth he wanted to be, the large settlement harboring the worst of the Commonwealth. Criminals, killers, _ghouls_.

But _of course_ this was the closest town, so _of course_ Charlotte would bring him here. Not that he really blamed her. She hadn’t known what kind of place this was, and she had been panicked and scared. Nothing else really seemed to matter but keeping him alive.

It was unusual, having someone value his life so much. But it was… _absolutely_ not unwelcome.

Then again, she seemed to have found some sort of sympathy with the ghoul they met at the entrance - _Hancock_. And _of course_ she did, just like she had with that synth, Nick. She was too naive, too compassionate for her own good. In a world like the Commonwealth, her brand of innocence would get her taken advantage of, abused, _killed_.

Not that Danse would let that happen. He was going to protect her, despite how difficult she made it to do so.

His head thudding against the pillow with a groan, he threw his arm over his eyes. When had he let that slip of a woman become so important to him? He had promised himself that he would not get attached more than necessary for their survival, but now?

_She cares for me, enough to risk her life to save me. Enough to ignore her own pain to tend to my own._

He could feel it in his skin - the lingering pain, the deep bruising inside his organs, the creaks that betrayed broken ribs and angry muscles. Each ache told him that he _should_ be dead, but he wasn’t. She was the only reason he was alive. Well, her and a few choice residents of Goodneighbor, whoever they may be.

But that raised the question: which was worse - death, or being indebted to these scum?

He knew what Charlotte’s answer would be, and that unnerved him. She needed to be realistic - to open her eyes to the realities of the Commonwealth. Danse had hoped he and the Brotherhood were putting her on the right track, but… he wasn’t so sure, anymore.

And the worst part was - he wasn’t sure he cared.

A light tapping pulled him from these thoughts, bringing his attention to the slight woman standing in the doorway. Charlotte offered a sheepish smile, pushing her growing bangs out of her eyes. “Can I come in?” she asked, her unusual timidity throwing him off-guard.

“Of course,” he answered, gesturing her into the room.

Immediately, she was by his side on the bed, sitting close enough for him to get a good look at her. He could see how beaten up she still was; a light dusting of purple underneath her right eye and along her jaw, a scabbed-over line slicing through her lip. But she definitely looked better than she had before he passed out for the last few days, assuring him that she had gotten help, just as she promised him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, a worry line appearing between her eyebrows as she cringed. “You look…” She pressed her lips together, averting her eyes.

“That bad?” he deadpanned. She frowned at his tone, a guilty expression crossing her features until he soothed her with a small smile. Teasing.

“No,” she scoffed. She reached forward with both hands, gently lifting his chin with her cool, slender fingers to get a better look at his face. “Handsome as ever.” He couldn’t help but laugh from deep in his chest, a twinge of pain striking him with the motion. She murmured an apology, biting her lip as she did so often.

Her thumbs brushed along his face, likely trailing over the bruises and wounds marring his skin. At her touch, he remembered how he had similarly reached out for her own face in his punchdrunk haze, tracing the curve of her bottom lip and smearing the blood there.

The thought was embarrassing, honestly - the memory of such an intimate gesture flooding him with bashful heat. She had never seemed to be shy when it came to touching him, seeing as she constantly grazed his arms and hands with her fingers, caressed his injuries like the caring mother she was. Surely such a gesture in return hadn’t upset her.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she said, her voice suddenly impossibly small. She let her hands fall back into her lap, and she tilted her head down to stare at her fingernails. “Dr. Amari told me you had internal bleeding. A lot of it. Broken ribs, a punctured lung - ah, and your leg,” she said, glancing over at where his right leg was heavily bandaged under the sheets. “I was so worried.”

“I apologize,” he murmured, tone matching hers in volume.

She laughed at his words, pressing a palm to her face in exasperation. _"O_ _f course_ you’re apologizing,” she said, shaking her head. “Danse. You saved my life, you know.”

“And you saved mine.”

She turned away, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. It gave him a moment to just look at her, to make sure she was finally safe and sound and whole. But it also gave him the time to notice the newer details, the fresh wounds on her arms and the blood on her clothes.

“What’s this?” he asked, pinching the bloody fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

She glanced down, eyebrows furrowing as she realized what he meant. “I helped Hancock get a holotape back from some raiders,” she explained. “I don’t have many caps, and that was enough to call us even.”

“Hancock,” was all Danse said in response, mouth tightening at the sound of the ghoul’s name.

“Yes,” she said back, voice surprisingly even. “The mayor.”

Charlotte stared at him, practically challenging him to say something about the ghoul’s… ghoul-ness. But he just stared back, unable to find any anger or resentment in her eyes.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, referring to her ignorance of non-feral ghouls. He hadn’t _withheld_ the information from her, exactly, but... the topic _had_ come up.

“No,” she murmured, eyes flashing dangerously, “I’m _furious_. But I don’t want to fight right now. I just want you to get better.” She tilted her head slightly, mouth spreading into that teasing, heart-stopping smile of hers. "And  _t_ _hen_ I’ll kick your ass.”

“Oh.” He smiled back, though his was much more subdued. “Alright.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, leaning forward. Her lips pressed against his forehead for a fleeting moment, but the sensation was unmistakable and soft. “Now get some sleep.”

She stood from the bed and left the room with a parting glance, leaving him irrationally flustered in her wake. He could still feel the light pressure of her lips even minutes after she departed, filling him with a strange sort of warmth.

Closing his eyes, he pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead, sealing in her touch and willing it to stay. _What has she done to me?_ he asked himself. _What has she done?_

There was no way he could sleep, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol did you know I suck at updating
> 
> But tbh, school had just started when I posted the last chapter, and then everything kinda went to shit, you know? But I'm "back" now, hopefully with more frequent updates ESPECIALLY NOW THAT THINGS ARE GETTING JUICY YALL
> 
> Okay let me know what you think thanks babes :*


	10. Everything Is Alright

_Tell me that you’re alright_  
_That everything is alright_  
_Please tell me that you’re alright_  
_That everything is alright  
Everything’s fine_

_-Motion City Soundtrack, “Everything Is Alright”_

* * *

A fragile laugh escaped her lips, shaking the very foundation of her body. It was a freeing feeling, the sensation of sincere laughter after days of endless fear and unease.

Hancock leaned forward from his spot across the coffee table, offering that charismatic smirk of his. “And you know what I told him?”

Charlotte was already stifling her next laugh, finding herself on the edge of her own seat. “I can’t even imagine.”

“I told him, ‘Maybe if you pet it, I’ll let you.’”

She was laughing before he finished the sentence, pressing a palm to her mouth and shaking her head at how absurd this man was. Hancock was chuckling, too, looking pleased with himself.

“I’ve never seen a man run so fast as he did then,” the ghoul concluded, slumping back against the cushions of his red couch. “He hasn’t been back to Goodneighbor since.”

“Unbelievable,” Charlotte said, taking in a deep breath once her laughter subsided. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

Hancock tilted his head as she relaxed into her own chair, his charming smile softening at the edges. “It looks like you needed that.”

“Hm?” she asked, pushing her overgrown bangs out of her face. “Needed what?”

“A good laugh,” he clarified. “You’ve looked ready to murder someone since you got here.” Propping his boots on the coffee table, he brought his hands to rest behind his head. “Hell, I’ve _seen_ you murder a few people. You’ve got quite an arm on you, sister.”

Charlotte looked away from his appraising eyes, unused to being complimented in this new, hostile world. “Ten years of softball helps,” she told him.

The ghoul cocked an eyebrow-less eyebrow inquisitively. “I bet you could do some damage with a bat, then.”

“I’m sure,” she echoed, amused by the thought of bashing her way through the Commonwealth with only a deadly softball swing. Hancock laughed, likely picturing the same thing.

It was strange - today, in his presence, her smile hadn’t fallen once. After a few days of getting to know him and meeting the other residents of Goodneighbor, she no longer felt as trigger-happy around ghouls. Hancock more so than anyone - he had this way of luring her in with his charisma and open attitude. It was almost laughable to feel so at ease in his presence, considering that she also knew the other side of his personality - the incredibly _lethal_ side.

Danse wouldn’t be pleased to hear her positive thoughts about Goodneighbor’s mayor, but she had managed to ignore the subject with him whenever he was awake. She couldn’t avoid the conversation forever, and she knew it, but she wasn’t going to argue with the man while he was still bedridden.

With a soft sigh, she stretched her arms out, still-sore body popping at each joint. “Did Dr. Amari ever tell you when Danse would be good to travel again?” she asked, trying to suppress the restlessness she felt her bones. Though Hancock’s distractions did help, it had already been a week of waiting, and she was ready to get on the road again.

“Eh, I’d say about another week or so,” Hancock answered. “She doesn’t want to go overboard with the stims.”

“Right,” she said, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“Why, need to get somewhere, sister?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she answered. “For Shaun.”

Hancock nodded, pondering her options for a moment. “Well, if you need to go, I’d be happy to keep an eye on the Paladin for you,” Hancock offered, tipping his hat with a wink.

“Even though he’s…?” She paused, wracking her brain for a way to delicately finish the sentence.

“...Brotherhood?” Hancock filled in the blank - his answer was _much_ tamer than what she might have expected.

She gave the mayor a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Right.”

“Eh, I’ve dealt with plenty like him in my time,” Hancock said, shrugging his shoulders. “Ghouls don’t always get the friendliest reception. But it’s not like I’m expecting him to be my pal, or anything. As long as he doesn’t try to kill me, I’m okay with it.”

“Thank you,” she hummed. “He obviously won't be happy, either, but… that would work,” she said.

“Then it’s settled,” he told her, rising from his seat. “We’ll get you some extra supplies in case you need them.”

She mirrored his actions, standing and crossing over to where he stood. She knew what the mayor was insinuating - _in case you run out of ammo again, in case you get hurt_. It was something she didn’t want to think about, going back out there alone. She had managed well enough on her own before she paired up with Danse, but she had gotten used to having someone watch her back. Having _Danse_ watch her back.

She supposed her distress must have been plain to see, because Hancock’s smile fell in the face of her silence. “What’s wrong, sister?”

“I-” she started, feeling a bit sheepish. “I don't like traveling alone.”

“I can come with you, if you rather.”

“No, no,” she declined, biting down on her bottom lip as she mulled over his offer. “I’d feel better if you stayed here. With him.”

“Alright,” he relented. “Well, there are plenty of capable folks in Goodneighbor who might be willing to help.”

“Right, Goodneighbor. ‘Of the people, for the people,’” she mimicked lightheartedly, though she was still discouraged. Hancock was probably right, but Charlotte didn’t _know_ any of these people - except for Dr. Amari, and Charlotte doubted the good doctor would be too keen on grabbing a gun and braving the wasteland. There were Nick and Piper, also, but she didn’t want to waste time doubling back to Diamond City.

Other than those few people, Charlotte couldn’t think of anyone else to accompany her. In fact, Charlotte hadn’t met many people that didn’t want to kill her, and the only ones who _didn’t_ were Danse, Nick, Piper, and-

And…!

_“...if you’re ever in Goodneighbor, be sure to look me up.”_

And _MacCready_.

“You look like you thought of something,” Hancock chuckled, catching on to her excitement.

“I did,” she said. “Do you know someone named MacCready?”

“The merc?” Hancock asked, confusion twisting his features. “Yeah, he stays at the Third Rail whenever he’s in town.”

“Merc?” she repeated, feeling herself deflate. “Like mercenary? I didn’t know he was a mercenary. I... don’t really have the caps to hire one.”

“You never know,” he grinned. “Just flash your smile at him, and I’m sure he’d do anything you ask.”

“Yeah?” she asked, laughing lightly. “If you say so. I guess it never hurts to ask.”

Having made up her mind, she mentally crossed her fingers as she collected her gear.

“Thanks, Hancock,” she nodded at him before turning to leave. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Sure thing,” Hancock said with a wink. “Good luck, Charlie.”

Halfway out the door, she froze in place and felt her heart stop dead.

_“Go ahead, Charlie.”_

Shutting her eyes against the ghost of a memory, she forced in a slow breath to keep herself grounded. It felt like she was in danger of floating away, of exploding, if her racing pulse was any indication.

_“Don’t you want to go play?”_

Charlotte took a deep breath, walking through the open door without another word.

* * *

Fortunately, an intoxicated ghoul by the bar was feeling especially helpful, pointing Charlotte toward a hallway in the back. She thanked him and followed his directions, immediately noting the sound of arguing as she approached the back room.

“Should we take this outside?” she heard a familiar voice say, though the words were unmistakably tense.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready,” another man shot back.

Quietly peering into the doorway, she was met by the backs of two unknown men, armed to the teeth and oozing hostility. In front of them, MacCready sat leisurely in an armchair, appearing completely unbothered by their presence.

“I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock,” MacCready said coolly, completely ignoring the first man’s jab. “It’s been almost three months… don’t tell me you’re getting rusty.”

The man on the other side of Winlock bristled, lip curling up with distaste. MacCready’s gaze briefly flickered over to him, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Should we take this outside?” MacCready repeated with more emphasis.

“It ain’t like that,” Winlock said, attempting to diffuse the situation. “I’m just here to deliver a message.”

“In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good,” MacCready interrupted, completely uninterested in whatever message the man had to deliver.

 _Gunners…_ Charlotte could remember MacCready mentioning them when they first met. And if these two hostile men were anything like the rest of the group, the Gunners definitely couldn’t be good news.

“Yeah, I heard. But you’re still taking jobs in the Commonwealth,” Winlock said pointedly. “That isn’t going to work for us.”

“I don’t take orders from you… not anymore.” MacCready crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair with unbridled confidence. “So why don’t you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can?”

Covering her mouth with a palm, Charlotte barely stifled a snicker.

_Sassy._

“What?” the other man hissed, taking a threatening step towards MacCready. The mercenary stood up in response, lips twitching up slightly. “Winlock, tell me we don’t have to listen to this shit.”

“The only reason we haven’t filled your body full of bullets is that we don’t want to start a war with Goodneighbor,” Winlock snapped back, his composure slipping away just briefly. “See, we respect other people’s boundaries. We know how to play the game. It’s something you never learned.”

“Glad to have disappointed you.”

“You can play the tough guy all you want. But if we hear you’re still operating inside Gunner territory,” Winlock growled darkly, “all bets are off. You got that?”

MacCready paused, taking a moment to simply stare at the two men. “You finished?” he asked, unruffled.

“Yeah… we’re finished,” Winlock concluded, turning towards the door and gesturing at his partner. “Come on, Barnes.”

The man named Barnes followed, and the two of them passed her as they walked out of the room.

“Got a problem, lady?” Barnes asked as she watched them leave, likely thinking that his tough-guy glare would be enough to intimidate her.

Charlotte snorted, leaning against the doorframe. _"_ _Please,”_ she hummed, “I’ve fought radroaches tougher than you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see MacCready turn, finally noticing her standing in the doorway. Barnes, on the other hand, wrinkled his nose, obviously about to lose his shit.

 _Well, that was stupid,_  she thought.

After a few tense moments of silence, Winlock let out a huge laugh, slapping his companion heavily on the back. “Holy shit, Barnes,” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Barnes looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, annoyed that his partner wasn’t jumping to his defense.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go,” Winlock added, still chuckling. Barnes stared at Charlotte a moment longer, debating whether or not to say something more, before following his companion down the hallway.

Charlotte breathed a small sigh, her tough mask giving way to relief. She had always been bold - _reckless,_  as her father used to say - but she had tried her hardest to stay level-headed ever since she got out of the vault. She didn’t want to _die,_  after all. And it definitely helped that Danse acted as her voice of reason.

But without him to stay rational for the both of them, she found herself slowly slipping back into old habits.

She was also growing to be more confident, more self-assured. She felt less reserved, cocky. _Strong_. With this confidence and the experience to back it up, she wasn’t just threatening - she was a _threat_. And in a way, that was more dangerous than being seen as weak. Threats make enemies.

 _Tow the line, Charlotte,_ she told herself. _Keep calm and tow the line, for now._

Shaking off the small burst of adrenaline from her encounter, she walked into the room and smiled at MacCready in greeting. “Hi, MacCready,” she said, trying to appear unbothered.

He blinked at her for a moment, briefly stunned into speechlessness by her clumsy arrival. “Ah, hey,” he responded slowly, offering a close-lipped smile in return. “Charlotte, right?” His gaze moved back over to where the two men had departed, a small scowl appearing on his face before he quickly smoothed it over. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“I don’t mind. It seemed like it couldn’t be helped.” A bit of warmth bloomed in her chest, pleased that he had remembered her. “Is everything alright?”

“Sure,” he scoffed, shoulders still tense. “They’re just a couple of morons looking to climb the ladder of success by stepping on everyone else on the way up.” He paused, cringing a bit. “Though I guess that’s how it goes when you run with the Gunners.”

“I remember you mentioning them.” _And accusing me of being one - with a gun pointed at my face, no less._ “And the Gunners are…. a gang?” she asked.

“One of the biggest,” he snorted derisively, crossing his arms. “Got a rep for being crazy… you know, so tightly wound, you’d think they were a cult or something.” Something flashed in his eyes as he looked down, something akin to regret or self-depreciation or weariness. “Stuck with them for a while ‘cause the money was good, but I never really fit in.”

“That’s not really a bad thing,” Charlotte pointed out. “I don’t think I’d like you if you ‘fit in’ with those two.”

“True,” he relented with another quirk of his lips. “They’re still as unpleasant as ever.”

“Still - unpleasantness aside,” she said, “it’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” he said steadily, mouth stuck in that slight smirk. “It’s… I’m glad you survived your first few weeks in the Commonwealth.”

“You know - I am, too,” she said, evoking a little laugh from him. “I think I’m starting to get my footing.”

“It seems like you have,” he said teasingly, likely referencing her encounter with Barnes. “And you’ll need it,” he added, expression darkening almost imperceptibly. Before she could comment on the sudden change, he quickly switched the subject. “So, ah… can I ask what brings you to Goodneighbor?”

“Oh, right,” she murmured. “I actually have to travel back to Sanctuary tomorrow,” she started, averting her eyes, “and I was hoping you could come with me. Possibly.”

MacCready tilted his head. “Something wrong?”

“Not… really,” she said, and he frowned at her vague answer. “I just don’t know many people in the Commonwealth, and I _hate_ traveling alone.”

“Sure, I get that.”

“But I know you’re a mercenary,” she interjected, backtracking slightly. “And I don’t have many caps to pay you with, so if you don’t want to come with me - or _can’t_ \- I’d understand. I just figured I’d ask.”

She was rambling, much to her dismay. She was normally so composed (or at least _appeared_ that way), but she was out of her element in this situation, practically _begging_ for his assistance. It wasn’t the best impression of her - but thankfully, he didn’t seem put-off or unimpressed. If anything, he looked amused.

Forcing in a little inhale, she made herself stop talking, sucking her lip between her teeth to keep any more words from spilling out. She didn’t want him - or _anyone_ \- to think she was so easily flustered, unreliable. But she was showing him weakness just by _asking_ him for help, and that alone was unnerving.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assured her. “You saved my skin the first time we met. Anything else you’d owe me, well…” He pretended to think it over. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

“My _tab?”_ She couldn’t help it; she laughed out loud at the notion. A _tab_. For a _hired gun._ “You’re sure? That would be enough for now?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged offhandedly. “At least I know that with you, I won’t end up with a bullet in my back.”

He stopped, blinking at her skeptically as she stared back at him with a tiny smile.

“...I won’t, right?”

She laughed.

“Not _on purpose.”_

* * *

Charlotte climbed up that spiral staircase again, this time with MacCready in tow. Entering the large common area on the second story, she stopped short, surprised to find Danse, shirtless, with palms pressed to the hardwood floor - chest heaving as he dipped into a push-up.

“Danse!” she exclaimed. He only glanced up at her in acknowledgement, with heavy breaths passing through parted lips. “What the hell?”

He angled his head back to the floor, continuing his regimen as he chased whatever number he was aiming for. Moments later, he released a long, satisfied exhale and stopped, hoisting himself upright onto his knees. “Charlotte,” he greeted breathlessly, her name a raspy sigh. “Everything alright?”

She snorted at his nonchalant tone before moving over to his side and kneeling beside him. Placing her palm flat against his chest and pushing him back to get a better look, she lightly traced the angry pink line marring his skin - only barely healed.

She leaned back onto her heels with a relieved sigh. Her eyes flickered back to his face, shooting him a pointed glare. “You’re still healing,” she scolded him. “You have to be careful.”

Danse stretched his arms back, slowly tightening the hardened muscles of his torso and shoulders. Charlotte cocked an eyebrow at the motion, following the subtle shiftings under his skin with her eyes. He was incredibly fit, of course, and she would never deny it. He was a refined mass of muscle, cut and handsome, covered with a delicate sheen of sweat, at the moment - but that wasn’t what truly caught her attention.

Her tired gaze trailed along the multitude of scars scattered across his body, each one drastically different in length and depth and width. She had always pondered the one slicing through his eyebrow, plainly in view -  and she _would_ ask him about it, one day - but she didn’t see _this much_ of his skin very often. Didn’t get much opportunity to look and consider the old wounds underneath his clothing.

And there were... too many to count. Too many wounds that had almost ended his life, too many injuries that likely cut deeper than the surface, and the sight of them made her chest tighten painfully. She noted the newer ones, too - a bright pink line on his chest, a jagged slash along his thigh, narrow and short scrapes at his jawline. Scars that symbolized protection, safety, surety… _guilt_. How he had saved her at the cost of his own well-being.

When she didn’t say anything more, lost to her own thoughts, Danse frowned in confusion with dark eyebrows furrowing. “Right,” he responded, off-put by the way she stared. Her eyes snapped back to his as he stood, giving him a thankful smile when he offered a hand for her to take.

Charlotte placed her palm in his, allowing him to hoist her onto her feet in one sure motion. Once righted, she pursed her lips and stared up at him, once again faced with their significant height difference; the way he towered over her made it difficult to appear intimidating when talking to him, to appear authoritative.

“I was starting to get restless,” he explained, filling in the silence. “I can handle this much, I assure you.”

“And your leg?” she asked, nodding at the injured limb. “Does it hurt?”

He wrinkled his nose, turning his head to look down at the wound. “Barely,” he answered, nonchalant as ever. “It’s feeling much better.”

Sighing softly, Charlotte crossed her arms.

“I know my limits, Charlotte,” he told her, attempting to alleviate her worry.

“I know you do,” she relented, softened by the sound of her name. Placing a hand on his bicep, she gave the flesh a gentle squeeze.. “Just… don't push yourself, alright?”

“Of course,” he answered, giving her the barest smile - comforting, gentle.

“Good,” she murmured, letting her hand fall back to her side. “I worry.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped short - gaze shifting to the side, focusing on something slightly behind her.

“Identify yourself, citizen,” Danse demanded, voice even, though the underlying hostility in his tone was painfully obvious to her.

Tensing in alarm, Charlotte whipped her head towards the doorway. However, she only saw MacCready leaning against the doorframe, his posture unruffled and casual.

“Oh!” she muttered, feeling ridiculous for having forgotten her new companion. “Right. Danse, this is MacCready.” The mercenary straightened, tipping his hat at the Paladin with his close-lipped smile. “I met him a few days after I left for Diamond City,” she explained. “He made sure I survived an encounter with some ferals.”

“She didn’t even know what they were,” MacCready jabbed lightly, throwing a wink in her direction.

Though Charlotte only rolled her eyes at his teasing, she could tell that Danse had tensed at her side. When she glanced over at her Paladin, he seemed wary of the newcomer, agitated.

If MacCready noticed Danse’s unfounded distrust, he didn’t show it. “It’s nice to meet the person who helped keep her alive the past few weeks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a subtle sign of unease. "Danse, right?"

The Paladin only nodded, though remained mute. MacCready raised an eyebrow, glancing back over to Charlotte as her slight smile slipped into a frown.

She understood that Danse was likely confused by MacCready's unexpected presence, as well as wary. Danse wasn't a fan of strangers. “MacCready is going to come with me to get Dogmeat,” she told him.

Danse’s glare snapped from MacCready to her. “Why?” he asked, jaw tight.

“You need to stay here,” she insisted, “and rest.”

His eyes narrowed as she spoke, mouth thinning with distaste. “I’ve rested enough, Knight.”

“I disagree,” she countered, irritated that he had slipped back into the role of her superior. “You can barely walk on that leg, and you know it, _Paladin,"_  she hissed back.

A flash of fury crossed Danse’s features, though he quickly smothered the emotion with his signature impassive mask.

“Hey,” MacCready’s voice cut in from the other side of the room. “It looks like you two need to talk this out. I’ll…” he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the stairs. “I’ll be downstairs, ‘kay, Charlotte?”

She let out a puff of air, nodding at the mercenary. “Alright, thanks.”

He smiled before leaving the room, a small gesture of encouragement.

The moment MacCready was out of earshot, Danse dropped all guarded pretenses, giving her an annoyed, incredulous look. _“Charlotte."_  He paused, taking a deep breath to temper himself. “Who is he?”

She huffed and looked away, surprised and frustrated by his irrational behavior. “I told you who he is,” she shot back. “He’s a mercenary who helped me after I left the vault.”

“A mercenary.”

“A mercenary who _saved my life."_

“And you’d really want to travel with that type of… insubordinate citizen?” Danse asked, tone almost accusational. “How much does he expect you to pay him?”

“Nothing!” she pressed back, bristling. “He’s doing me a favor.”

“And do you trust him?”

Her eyes flickered over to the door and back again. “I suppose I do.”

Danse grimaced. “You _suppose."_ The words were a growl, a _reprimand_ \- deep and furious.

“Danse, _please,”_ she said, trying her hardest to refrain from retaliating with more harsh words. “Do you trust _me?”_

The Paladin's lips snapped shut, catching on whatever heated words he was prepared to throw at her. Instead, he blinked at her in surprise, caught off-guard by the question. “You know I do.”

“Then can’t you trust my judgement on this?”

With a slow exhale, his scowl finally softened. “It’s not your judgement I don’t trust,” he explained. “It’s _him._  It’s…”

Charlotte tilted her head to the side inquisitively, confused. “It’s what?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he confessed tentatively. “If anything happened to you… I’m supposed to watch your back. As your superior officer. As your partner." His words were just shy of  _as your friend_ _,_ but the sentiment was there. “Especially after…” His voice trailed off again, but she still understood.

“Oh,” she breathed, the sound practically inaudible - and suddenly, it all made sense.

After what happened at Swan’s Pond, of _course_ he’d be worried. The more she thought about it, the more Charlotte knew that she’d feel the exact same way if she were in his shoes. She’d feel panicked, terrified of relying on a stranger to keep her Paladin safe, especially only _days_  after she almost lost him. After he almost lost _her_. She’d feel frustrated and _helpless_ at being a deadweight to him as she slowly, painfully healed.

And, truth be told, the idea of traveling without Danse didn't sit right with her, either. But she needed to get Dogmeat before too much time had passed, before Kellogg’s trail inevitably went cold.

"I’ll be alright, Danse,” she murmured, stepping a bit closer to him to catch his eye. “I won’t be gone more than two days, at the most.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Danse’s shoulders slumped, all the fight draining out of his body. “Just be careful, soldier,” he ordered, though it was more of a plea than anything else.

“Always,” she promised, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “And _you_ \- play nice with Hancock while I’m gone.”

His lip immediately curled up in distaste, the sweet moment between them shattering instantaneously. The dramatic switch in his mood at the mere _mention_ of Hancock was so comical and so absurd and so _Danse -_ and she was laughing out loud before she could stop herself. He watched her, unamused, as she released all her tension into incredulous giggles.

She pressed a hand to her face and drew in a shaky breath. “And _please_  let your body heal," she added, the request tailing on the end of her laughter.

Though she could tell he wanted to continue brooding, his grim expression broke at the sight of her smile. "Fine,” he relented, and she could swear that the corners of his mouth twitched up.

“Good boy,” she laughed again, reaching up to cup his cheeks and pull his face down to her height. Briefly - before she could think about the implications - she pressed her lips to his forehead, her touch fleeting and light.

She had done the same when Danse first woke up after Swan's Pond, and she _knew_ it had flustered him then - though that had not been her intention. Her father had always kissed her forehead before bedtime, during thunderstorms, after nightmares. Because of him, that simple gesture had always reminded her of safety, of peace, of _home._

It had comforted Nate after his nightmares, when he got ensnared by old terrors - his repressed, gut-wrenching sobs soothed by the press of her mouth on his pale, clammy skin. It had comforted a fitful Shaun on those first nights home from the hospital - his innocent tears calmed by the loving murmurs of his mother, by butterfly kisses on his cheeks.

And she only hoped it could comfort Danse in the same way.

Releasing his face from her touch, she let him straighten back to full height - not missing the barest flush of pink in his cheeks. His lips were parted slightly, as if he were stunned by the simplest act of intimacy. And... he probably was.

He was likely unused to being touched with kindness, with gentle fingers pressing lightly against flesh. His skin was always subjected to the impact of bullets, to the sting of stabbed stimpaks, to the blunt brutality of lead pipes and power fists.

More than anything, she wanted that to change, wanted him to comfortably lean into her soft touches, to accept them without hesitation. He deserved nothing less than to expect and anticipate such kindness from her.

“I’ll be back,” she promised, “and in one piece.”

His jaw tightened, barely resisting the urge to ask her to stay, if only for a _few more_ days. But she needed to do this, needed to get back onto her restless feet, and he knew it. He understood her better than most.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eep so, here we go. things are really starting to happen between charlotte and danse, eeeeeeeee
> 
> also PLEASE continue to let me know what you think! I was so unprepared for all your comments on that last chapter. y'all have no idea how much it meant to me (hint: it meant sooo much). 
> 
> I've been very worried (especially in this chapter) that I'm moving things unrealistically quickly between the two of them, so I want to know if y'all think the pacing is okay!
> 
> I love all y'all <3


	11. Traveling Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should really listen to the song while you read this. It's so good omg

_So, till I meet you there, I'm singing_  
_A traveling song to ease the ride_  
_And so you know_  
_Everywhere I roam  
I'll see you on the road_

_-Ryn Weaver, “Traveling Song”_

* * *

The bridge to Sanctuary was exactly as she left it, degrading and creaky beneath her aching feet. It was still hard to return to Sanctuary Hills, to see what used to be her home in such a pitiful state. Once upon a time, she nurtured a family here, planned a future, planted her roots. Now, this place was only a graveyard, a hollow reminder of everything she would never know again.

“You okay?” MacCready asked, pulling her attention from the decrepit houses ahead of them. For a moment she was confused by the question, but then she realized she had stopped in place, paralyzed by the sight of her former home.

“I am,” she responded, voice even. “Sorry, let’s go.”

“Sure,” he agreed, letting her strange behavior slide. He wasn’t the type to pry, and for that she was thankful. With so few people to talk to in the Commonwealth, it would be too easy to spill her guts to anyone who showed her the smallest bit of kindness. But despite his friendliness, MacCready was still practically a stranger, regardless of how well they got along.

They continued into the neighborhood, trailing along the beaten sidewalk and towards the cul-de-sac. She tried to ignore the gnawing feeling inside her chest with each passing house, deaf to the strange echoes of gardening housewives and neighborhood children chasing one another across the lawns. Their laughter was almost audible, flooding the air like a nuclear cloud.

Before she could drown in its staleness, she noticed Preston approach the two of them, waving at her with a grin on his face.

“General,” he greeted, tipping his hat at the two of them. “Welcome back.”

“Hi, Preston,” she said, offering the Minuteman a small smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“General?” MacCready asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. He looked amused, if nothing else.

“It’s a long story,” she told her companion, a subtle way of telling him to drop the subject, for now. When he only smirked in response, she playfully bumped her shoulder against his. “MacCready, this is Preston Garvey,” she added, introducing the Minuteman to the mercenary. “We met in Concord only a day or two after I left the vault."

“Good to meet you, MacCready,” Preston said kindly, holding his hand out for MacCready to take.

“Likewise,” the mercenary said, shaking the Minuteman’s hand. “Quite an operation you’ve got here,” he praised, referencing the small settlement that had grown in and around Sanctuary Hills.

“We make due,” Preston said, shrugging his shoulders. “We’ve built a few water pumps since you left, which has helped with the crops.” A small smile tugged at his lips, obviously proud of the settlement’s accomplishments, achieved in only a short amount of time. “We’ve even had a few people join us here.”

“That’s great,” Charlotte beamed, a seed of hope blossoming in her chest - despite all the destruction, life was beginning to sprout in her neighborhood again. It wasn’t the future she had envisioned for Sanctuary Hills, for herself, for her family… but it was _something._

“C’mon, let me show you,” Preston said, waving at the two of them to follow. “We’ve already repaired a few of the houses,” he explained, leading them down the sidewalk to the heart of Sanctuary’s settlement. “Some of us even fixed up your old house.”

Charlotte exhaled inaudibly, chest tightening with phantom pressure. “Oh?” she said back, trying to sound nonchalant.

“It’s not the same as it was, I know, but it’s liveable,” Preston continued, unaware of her discomfort. “Thought you might want some familiarity.”

“Right,” she agreed, unable to form anything more than the single word.

From where he walked beside her, MacCready bumped into her, trying to catch her attention. He pursed his lips when she glanced over, eyebrows raising inquisitively - _Are you okay?_

She forced a smile, hoping to relieve some of MacCready’s worry. He didn’t seem to buy her fake grin, though he relented with a shrug.

_...Am I okay?_

Only moments later, they stopped in front of what was once her home - 247 Tranquility Lane. It was almost exactly as she remembered, from the antiquated teal paint to the rusted mailbox to the beaten front door… Standing here, she could almost imagine the flowerbeds she had once slaved over, a wide sun hat on her head as she kneeled in the dirt, grinning at Nate while he mowed the lawn every Sunday morning-

She swallowed, trying not to choke on her dry tongue.

“...so let me know if you need anything, General,” Preston continued, jerking her back to the present. She hadn’t heard _anything_ the Minuteman said, but she nodded at him, regardless.

“Thanks, Preston,” she said back. “Talk later?”

“Sure thing. There are some potential settlements in the area I want to show you, but that can wait,” he explained courteously. “And General?”

“Mhm?”

“Welcome home.”

* * *

With trembling fingers, she pushed at the front door with palm flat against the wood. She let its momentum swing the door wide open, standing frozen just shy of the doorway. From what she could see past the shadows in the vacant house, there wasn’t much remaining in her living room. The decor and furniture she had so lovingly chosen as the perfect homemaker were long gone, leaving only emptiness where there was once life, companionship, family.

Gripping one hand at the doorframe like a lifeline, she practically pulled herself into the room, unable to take more than a few hesitant steps past the doorway. The floor crackled underneath her feet as she moved -  displaced, decrepit linoleum tiles breaking from the pressure of her footfalls.

Though the house was unlit and dim, there were still unpatched holes in the paneled ceiling, allowing glimpses of moonlight to filter through. This only made the shadows more dramatic, more menacing as she continued into the house, sending rippling unease through her core.

Pausing at the counter in the kitchen, she rested her palms flat against the cool surface and closed her eyes. Without sight to rely on, she could almost imagine the sound of her husband on the couch, flipping through the newspaper and humming some random song… though he seemed to hum less and less with every passing year. She could hear Codsworth whirring about the kitchen, stopping to place a fresh cup of coffee in front of her. She thanked him kindly before taking a sip, unashamedly addicted to its bitter taste, though Nate would always tease her - _Caffeine junkie._ And then the television, turned on but volume turned low, started to scream- 

___“__ Followed by - yes, followed by flashes-” _

Charlotte forced her eyes open with a shuddering gasp, attempting to blink away her past, but the cruel sounds did not relent, nor had the cruel bombs.

____“___ -Blinding flashes, sounds of explosions-” _

“Stop!” she ground out desperately, voice louder than anticipated. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dancing on her trembling lips, but she made no more sounds as she cried. In her mouth, she could taste blood from how hard she was biting down on her lip, willing her sobs to stay in her throat.

A soft whine from the doorway made her jump and push away from the counter, heartbeat pounding in alarm. When her eyes focused in the moonlight, she relaxed at the sight of Dogmeat trotting over to her, pressing his nose to her hand and licking it gently.

“Hey, Dogmeat,” she cooed at the dog, voice still shaking, and knelt down to his level. She framed the dog’s head in her hands, scratching behind his ears and squishing his furry face.

Though his tail had started to wag with contentment, the dog whined again, moving forward in an attempt to lick her face. Laughing, she jerked her head away but gave him a kiss on the nose in compensation.

“I’m okay, boy. Don’t worry.” The dog huffed happily as she stood, pressing his snout to her palm so she would pat his head. “Alright, let’s see what else is in here, yeah?” she asked him, receiving a small bark of affirmation.

She made her way down the short hall, noting the lack of doors and missing molding and chipped white paint. To her right was the old laundry room - completely empty - and to her left, the bathroom. She could see that many of the utilities had survived, and the mirror-

_“As beautiful as the day we met.”_

-the mirror also remained, purposeless without a reflection, but surviving, nonetheless. In the first years of their marriage, they had playfully fought to use that mirror first - _My turn, hon. Stop hogging the mirror_ \- but that playfulness had dimmed over time until she stood alone in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection as she straightened her bangs, retouched her make-up, perfected her happy housewife mask.

She and Dogmeat pushed forward, away from the memories, the dog's flank brushing against her side as a show of support. At the end of the hall, she turned into her old bedroom, the room empty save a rusted bed frame and dingy mattress that was not her own. The windows were completely bare, glass shattered and scattered centuries ago. But this let the moonlight flood in, the room brighter than anywhere else in the silent house.

Shaun’s nursery was the only room that still had a door, of course. When she finally brought herself to go inside, she nearly crumpled at the sight before her.

Her son's crib stood proudly where it had always been, all faded colors and degraded wood. Even the mobile still hovered above where her baby once slept, crooked and creaking but  _persevering._

“Oh,” she breathed out the sound, unaware that her legs had brought her closer of their own accord. Hesitantly, she reached out and spun the mobile, the tiny rocket-ships twirling around in a lopsided circle and squeaking from neglect. But then it started to sing that old song weakly, meekly, recognizably - and Charlotte sank to the floor.

Before she knew they were coming, violent sobs had ripped from her throat, punctuated by choking gasps as she struggled to breathe. Fat tears fell down her face, lingered at her jaw, and she leaned back against the crib, releasing all the sorrow and grief trapped within her broken heart.

Dogmeat stretched out beside her on the floor, resting his chin in her lap patiently as she cried. She let him comfort her, pressing her face into the fur of his torso and sobbing until her throat ached.

She wanted her family. She wanted them more than she could bear, more than she could fathom… Complicated as he was, she wanted her husband to console her, if only for a moment. She wanted her baby. She wanted this house to be a homeagain, to bring her peace and not despair.

And she wanted…

Eventually, her sobs slowed and subsided until she could actually breathe again. Not wanting to be here any longer, Charlotte gingerly lifted herself from the floor, forcing Dogmeat to raise his head from her lap. The dog watched as she regained her footing, monitoring her in case she crumbled again. “Good boy,” she rasped, absentmindedly scratching at his ear. “Good boy.”

Charlotte knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep here - that much was clear. There was too much history in this house, too much longing, and she would suffocate in it all if she remained.

Feeling like she was stepping out of a nightmare, she left the house and shut the front door behind her, fully intending to never go back inside. She took a deep breath of the open air, trying to reorient herself - like finding reality after a painful dream.

_“Your name is Charlotte, and you’re safe.”_

And... she wanted _Danse_ to be here. She wanted him to brush away her bangs, bring her back to herself with words of understanding and peace. She wanted him _now -_ her only safety and comfort in this cruel, cruel place.

While standing amidst the ghosts of her former life, the thought of Danse felt strange. But… he was all she had, now, the only semblance of _family_ she had left. Because of him, she wasn’t alone. And because of him, she had a real chance of finding her son and making a whole family again.

“Hey, Charlotte?”

MacCready waved at her from across the street, lithe form leaned against the pole of an overhang. She hastily wiped the tears off her cheeks, hoping to erase any trace of her meltdown, and made her way over to the mercenary.

“Hi,” she murmured in greeting, voice still noticeably raw.

“Thought you went to bed already,” he said, stepping just a little closer to get out of the shadows.

“Not yet,” she said evasively. _Not tonight._ “I’m not really tired.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking at her for just a beat longer than was comfortable. “Sure you aren’t,” he said. “The bags under your eyes make it pretty obvious.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“But seriously,” he interjected, brushing off her sarcasm. “You okay? Your eyes are all red,” he noted, observant as ever.

“Something in my eye, probably,” she explained, trying to diffuse his concern with humor. But by the look on his face, he was more concerned than amused.

“Right, sure,” he shot back, rolling his eyes. “Well, I’d imagine some sleep will help. C’mon, I’ll come with you if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. These guys have thrown together a bunch of beds,” he told her. “Let me show you.”

“...Alright, thanks.”

MacCready gestured for her to follow, taking the lead with Dogmeat trailing happily behind his newest human. Charlotte smiled to herself, took a slow breath, and followed the mercenary down the street.

* * *

Danse was up before dawn, which was not unusual - though it hadn’t been the familiar nightmares that kept him from sleeping. Instead, he had lain awake in the dark, plagued with anxious thoughts of Charlotte.

Rationally, he knew that he had no real reason to worry. Charlotte was more than capable of handling herself by now, even if he didn’t quite want to admit it. Where he had once been worried that she would go out and die on him, he was now more worried that she would outgrow him, rendering him unnecessary.

Regardless, Danse _still_ didn’t trust that mercenary, MacCready. He was an outlier, an unknown that couldn’t be relied on, despite whatever Charlotte thought. She was far too trusting, even after months living in the Commonwealth. Luckily, Danse was distrustful enough for the two of them _,_ and maybe that was beneficial. They balanced each other's extremes.

After hours of laying awake, he eventually shoved himself out of bed and greeted the sunrise with an uneasy frown. Charlotte wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, at the earliest, and he would likely lose his mind if he sat around and waited.

Although she had warned him to take it easy as he healed, Danse honestly felt well enough to test his muscles, refine his strengths after a week confined to a bed. In truth, he was itching to get out of this musty building and go for a long run, but he wasn’t keen on the idea of interacting with the miscreant population of Goodneighbor.

So, instead, he lowered himself to the floor and began a routine of simple exercises, similar to whenever he spent extended time on the Prydwen. He threw himself into the workout, delighted by the burn in his muscles and endorphins in his blood. Every so often, he could feel the healed seams of his wounds tightening, threatening to tear, and he almost revelled in skirting that dangerous line. It made him feel more in control of his body, like he was conquering the injuries that had almost conquered him.

He dipped into a deep push-up, holding his body just shy of touching the ground before straightening his elbows. He ducked down again, breathing in slowly on the descent. In, out. Up, down.

“Y’know,” a rasping voice said from the doorway, “Charlie’ll kill me if she gets back and you’re all torn up again.”

Exhaling sharply through his nose in annoyance, Danse turned his head to glare at the smirking ghoul. “Stop pretending to care,” Danse huffed, continuing his reps nonchalantly. _“Charlotte_ may buy your fake altruism, but I’m not so easily fooled.”

“Of course not,” Hancock said, crossing his arms casually. “You’re no fool, yeah?”

Dance bristled at Hancock’s snide tone, though he didn’t dare let his anger show, didn’t dare give the ghoul the satisfaction of getting under his skin. “Don’t test me, freak. I know what your kind is really like.”

“Hm. _My_ kind, right,” Hancock hummed, tilting his head inquisitively. “But what about _your_ kind?” he asked, voice biting. “Does she know what you Brotherhood types are really like, or do you just  _choose_ to lie to her?”

Danse paused, a flash of red obscuring his vision. Pushing himself upright on his knees, he shot the ghoul a scathing glare. “I don’t need to lie to her,” he spat back. “She knows our cause is noble and just.”

“Seems to me she thinks _you're_ noble, which is such pretty bullshit,” Hancock added with a smirk. “Poor thing.”

“You don’t know anything about her,” Danse hissed, dangerously close to punching the ghoul where his nose should be.

“What I _do_  know is you found her when she was vulnerable,” Hancock shot back, his words almost an accusation. “And she followed you like a lost duckling, poor thing,” he repeated the pitying endearment. “And I’m sure your Brotherhood jumped at the chance to take advantage of that. Of _her.”_

In an instant, Danse was on his feet, stood to full height and towering over Hancock. “Watch what you say, freak. The only reason I haven't put you down is because of her.”

“Sure, of course,” Hancock said coolly, that infuriating smirk never leaving his mouth. “Charlie wants to protect everyone, even scum like _us._ But I bet she'd feel different if she knew _this_ side of you, yeah? Hateful, _feral?"_

At his sides, Danse's hands clenched into two tight fists, fingernails biting into palms. There was nothing he wanted more than to forcefully wipe that grin off his face, satisfy his anger with a good punch or ten. It was almost too much to handle how furious he was. He hadn’t felt this way in so long, this livid - not since Cutler's death.

“Right,” the ghoul added, satisfied by Danse’s fuming silence. “I thought so.”

Hancock walked back towards the door to take his leave, his arrogant swagger making Danse want to break his stupid legs.

“Oh, and some advice?” Hancock added, turning on his heel. “You should get her a melee weapon. Your girl has a mean swing, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Danse monotoned, barely reigning in his rage.

"You know how she killed that behemoth?” Hancock asked, unbearably smug. “Beat it into the ground with her rifle. She should really invest in a mace or something.”

Danse paused with a slow exhale.

“A mace.”

“Yeah, something with a lot of weight.” Raising the flesh where an eyebrow should be, Hancock’s grin turned sinister. “She played softball, you know.”

“No,” Danse ground out, “I didn’t.”

“Ah,” Hancock said, nodding as if that explained _so much._  The bastard looked immensely pleased with himself, smugness radiating off of him in waves, and it made Danse impossibly angrier.

Regardless, the jab had the desired effect on the Paladin, and Hancock _knew_ it. Danse felt unhinged, uneasy - uncharacteristically _jealous._

When it was obvious that Danse had nothing more to say, Hancock nodded again. “Good chat,” Hancock simpered. “Talk to you later, brother.”

The ghoul left the room without another word, leaving Danse to stew in his own anger, irritation, and irrational envy. He wanted to punch a wall or shoot something or _kill_ someone - how could he let that _abomination_ get under his skin like this, over something so petty as  _knowledge?_

With an audible snarl, he threw himself back into his regimen, forcing himself to focus on the burn in his muscles, the endorphins in his veins-

But try as he might to distract himself, Hancock’s words still lingered in the back of his mind - taunting him, haunting him.

* * *

“I still can’t believe you’re a General.”

Charlotte snorted, rolling her eyes at MacCready. “It’s more of a formality, really.” Shrugging her shoulders, she continued, “They needed a leader, and I was there.”

“That’s it?” MacCready scoffed, doubtful. “You just wandered into Concord, and they made you General?”

“I mean,” she muttered, “I may have killed a deathclaw.”

That stunned the chatty mercenary into rare silence, his eyes opening comically wide. “... _How?”_ he asked, slack-jawed. “You'd been out of the vault for, what - ten minutes?

She was almost offended by his disbelief. “Because I’m a badass?” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Sure you are.”

“...I also might have been wearing power armor.”

“Ah-ha!” MacCready laughed, lightly poking her in the side. “Power armor is cheating!”

“Oh, so you’d rather I _died?”_ she asked, faking offense. “Because I would have. Died, that is.”

“Still,” he shot back, “you don’t make someone _General_ because of _power armor.”_

She laughed, in unusually high spirits as they trekked back to Goodneighbor with Dogmeat in tow. Maybe it was because MacCready was so easy to get on with, so easy to be playful around. She _had_ noticed she felt a bit lighter around him, trusting that he wouldn't push too far or pry too much.

But... her mirth might _also_ have something to do with the Paladin waiting for her at the end of their journey. Just _maybe._ After her grueling day at Sanctuary Hills and the terrible night spent wide awake, she just wanted to be with him again. He always knew what she needed, always had her back.

And she missed him, plain and simple.

“I never liked power armor, myself,” MacCready mused aloud, pulling her from her thoughts. “Too bulky.”

“I feel the same,” she agreed. “I don’t know why Danse likes it so much, but I guess it has its perks.”

Perks like deflecting bullets, waste disposal - possible air conditioning? Jumping higher, punching things like a goddamn robot, not being crushed to death by a behemoth-

With a start, Charlotte’s heart nearly stopped at the memory - Danse laying lifeless, pieces of his wrecked power armor scattered around him like gruesome confetti. He had been _so stubborn_ about leaving his armor behind, the ridiculous man - but there had been no saving any of it. It was shrapnel, by that point.

However, she _had_ promised to give him the power armor she apparently owned, a Brotherhood-issued set waiting patiently on the Prydwen. _Yes,_ Danse had laughed despite his pain, _you have power armor._

“Hey, MacCready?” Charlotte interjected, immediately running with her new idea.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Do you mind if we take a quick detour?” she asked. “There’s something I need to get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh haaaaaaaaaay y'all
> 
> Lol I literally had only one sentence for the chapter for about a month. And then BAM, all of it flowed out. I hope you like it (and Charlotte still seems consistent and shit. I tried lol)
> 
> Also, I'm not trying to make Hancock seem like a huge asshole or anything. I mean I think he's truly trying to look out for Charlotte, but he's also kind of a dick, so he likes to get Danse all riled up in the process. I love Hancock so much, and he's going to be fairly important to this story, but not in the gross way where it's a love triangle and I end up bashing Hancock to make Danse look better. Danse is so problematic and that's important to explore, too. Also I love Hancock so you'll def be able to tell in the next few chapters :3 
> 
> I also love maccready OKAY? BUT HOW DO YOU WRITE HIM BECAUSE I DONT KNOW
> 
> Lastly, I literally just finished this (it's 1am) so it's probably riddled with mistakes, but I'll reread it tomorrow and edit it a bit. I just really wanted to post it so HERE YOU GO OOPS


	12. Strange and Unprepared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol hey guys, long time no see.  
> sorry this took so long! I'll talk a little bit more about that at the end of the chapter XD
> 
> enjoy lovelies! <3

_And you never feel good or bad_  
_Only strange and unprepared_  
_‘Cause I never see you coming or you leaving  
_ _Now we’ll always never know_

_-Copeland, “Strange and Unprepared”_

* * *

The fading sunlight splattered the sky with vibrant yellows and oranges, the sinking sun signaling the end of another day. Despite the tranquility and beauty of the sunset, Danse couldn’t help but felt uneasy at the sight - the resulting dimness only made the streets of Goodneighbor more sinister, the shadows sharper and more dramatic than during the day. More places to hide in plain sight, more camouflage for any seedy stranger.

Thankfully, his heightened paranoia only fueled his momentum, forcing him into a brisk run from his leisurely jog. The consistent burn in his legs was a nice distraction, a soothing release from his stir-craziness and his frustration and his worry, worry, _worry_ for Charlotte’s safety, the waiting, waiting, _waiting_ for her return.

It was for this reason that he had swallowed his reluctance to go wandering about Goodneighbor - after nearly two days of the same monotonous exercise routines, of disassembling and cleaning and reassembling his gun (and disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling it _three more times),_ he had finally forced himself out of the Old State House.

By now, he must have been running for _hours,_ considering the sun had been high in the sky when he left. The exhaustion under his skin was becoming more apparent with every step, his huffing breaths becoming increasingly strained with every inhale. It was only a few moments later that he had to stop, placing a palm flat against the nearest building for balance.

His breath came out in heavy pants as he took a moment to collect himself, shifting his weight off his right leg as it began to throb, the barely-healed injury protesting overexertion.

...Maybe he had pushed himself too far, this time. Just _maybe._

With a drawn-out sigh, he shoved himself away from the wall and sluggishly started off again, back towards the Old State House - his pace more casual, less frantic. By this point in the evening, he had definitely been away for too long - but with luck, Charlotte would be waiting for him when he returned.

But with every twist and turn of the streets, with every shifting shadow and dim alleyway, he found himself more and more unsure of his whereabouts. Without the daylight to guide him, he no longer recognized any of the buildings as he ran through the town.

With an aggravated huff, he slowed his pace again, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to reorient himself with the surroundings.

“You look lost, handsome.”

The sultry, rasping voice made his skin prickle, prompting him to turn towards its source in a defensive stance. Danse spotted her leaning languidly against a nearby building, partially obscured by the shadows - a lanky, unkempt woman biting a lit cigarette between grinning teeth. The end of the cigarette flared up in the darkness as she drew in an even breath, lips pulled tight, before letting the smoke pool out of her mouth sinuously.

“State your business, citizen,” Danse demanded in usual fashion, not betraying how strangely unsettled he was by her angular curves and cheshire smile. She was slight, brittle, unassuming... if she was foolish enough to attack him, he could easily disable her advances. But she agitated him, nonetheless - irrational as it may be.

As if his response spurred her into motion, she dropped her cigarette and snuffed it out with a high-heeled shoe, pushing away from the wall to move nearer to him. Danse barely resisted the urge to back away from her, disgusted by her proximity but unwilling to show her any sign of discomfort.

With her so close, he could see her features much more clearly. His eyes quickly scanned over her exposed skin, unpocketed and smooth (and pointedly non-ghoul), though that wasn’t much of a comfort considering the rest of her disarming appearance. She was clad in a skin-tight black dress, likely meant to be _alluring -_ the fabric cut obscenely short and revealing a long expanse of scrawny legs. In the dim street light, her eyes were black holes, dark and lined heavily with dark makeup. And her lips - thin and too-wide and painted bright red, pulled into a smirk that framed a mouthful of predatory teeth.

For a brief moment, he was reminded of Charlotte’s lips, of his thumb smearing blood along their curves and staining them crimson. Once the thought had passed, however, he immediately felt fury and guilt flash in his chest, hating how he had inadvertently compared his partner to this… this _degenerate._

“Thought you might need directions,” she said, cocking a bony hip. “Maybe some company, if you have the caps.”

Danse wasn’t naive. He knew _exactly_ what she was and _exactly_ what she was proposing, and her implications made his blood boil. He couldn’t help but imagine her hands fluttering over his body, her lipstick smeared on his skin, her touch lingering like a bleeding wound… the thought was sickening. Nothing like the touch of lips against his forehead, soft and unassuming and expecting nothing in return.

He forced his mouth firmly shut, hoping to hold back the obscenities that ricocheted in his mouth.

The prostitute flashed another smirk and moved even closer, likely interpreting his silence as an invitation. Somehow oblivious to the warning glare he shot her, she tugged at one of her dress straps, revealing more of her skin to him - the curve of her collarbones, the swell of her breasts.

“The Commonwealth’s a lonely place, y’know?” she added, biting at her bottom lip in a pitiful attempt at seduction - a pale comparison to the thoughtless way Charlotte constantly abused her own bottom lip, holding back headstrong thoughts or embarrassment or laughter. “I can give you anything you need.”

Grinning, she reached out to him, her cold fingers brushing against his bicep and lingering for far too long. With a low growl, Danse flinched and hit her hand away with more force than intended. “That’s _enough,”_ he snapped at her, voice flat and icy. “I do _not_ need anything from you.”

Fear flickered across her features as she retracted her hand, clutching it tightly to her chest. Her sultry demeanor crumbled in an instant, leaving behind wide, shocked eyes and trembling lips. And just like that, he could see that she was just a woman - a tired and fumbling woman with dark circles beneath her eyes and streaks of grey in her hair. The angles of her body seemed less sharp, less like daggers - her bony knees and scrawny legs obviously _hungry,_ spreading for any man with the caps to pay for her next meal. And her skin, unpocketed and smooth and _bruised,_ spoke loudly of abuse and neglect.

This prostitute was immoral and unkempt and represented everything Danse despised, but she was not his enemy. She had chosen this life for herself, and for that, she should be ashamed.

But Danse knew what it was like to be hungry, to be desperate. To be _lost._

More than anything, he wished Charlotte were here with him. The Knight had more than enough sympathy to share with this lowly woman, more than enough kindness. Danse, on the other hand, didn’t have any of that softness to share with those he considered undeserving.

_...Is she undeserving?_

“I...I’m sorry,” the prostitute finally squeaked out, her voice impossibly small.

With a frustrated hiss, Danse slowly shook his head at her before turning away. Without another word to the shaking woman, he resumed his run in the opposite direction as if their encounter hadn’t ever happened. As if her shade of grey never existed.

But no matter how much distance he put between them, her touch still burned on his skin like an ugly itch, lingering like a bleeding wound, dripping red down his arm like little smears of lipstick.

* * *

“Danse!”

Before he had a chance to react, the slight woman had thrown herself against his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck with laughter on her lips. Her sudden warmth was enough to melt away the tension in his shoulders, to unwind the anxiety coiled in his gut, and it was like he could breathe again.

“Charlotte,” he murmured, almost to himself, and looped his arms around her waist.

She was still laughing once he put her back onto her feet, giddy grin bursting with simple joy. It creased the wrinkles at her eyes and revealed that dimple in her right cheek - white teeth, pink lips, genuine elation. Somehow, it felt like he was meeting her all over again, regarding her from the steps of the police station - that smile stopping his heart mid-beat, even now.

Sinking into her hip, Charlotte let that jaw-dropping smile relax into something less manic, something more comfortable. “Where’ve you been, hm?” she asked, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I’ve been waiting for _hours,”_ she added, dragging out the last word for dramatic emphasis.

He hesitated for a moment to tell her, knowing that she was wary of him overexerting himself… which he had. “I went for a run,” he eventually relented, unsurprised by worry that flashed across her features.

Without hesitation, she placed her palms flat against his chest, mouth pulling into a soft frown. _“Please_ tell me you were careful,” she said, eyes flickering over the multitude of pink, barely-healed lines on his body. “Though Hancock told me you were gone all day, so,” she added, her voice barely above a mutter.

As much as Danse wanted to take a good moment to complain about Hancock (and his nosiness and smugness and _infuriating existence),_ he was suddenly overly-conscious of the dull aching in his right thigh. He couldn’t help but subtly shift his weight onto the other foot to relieve some of his discomfort. Though the movement was miniscule, Charlotte noticed - he could tell by the way her frown sharpened at the edges with disappointment.

 _“Danse,”_ she breathed, pushing herself away from him. “How much does it hurt?”

“It’s sore,” Danse said, shifting his eyes away from her accusatory stare. For a moment, he felt a flare of irritation - not necessarily at her for being so overprotective but because of his own condition, his own shortcomings. She felt the need to coddle him because of _his_ mistakes, because _he_ was careless and weak. However, her constantly… well, _mothering_ him only served to remind him of his own weakness. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he added sharply, though he immediately regretted how much bite he added to his words, thoughtlessly laced with a hint of venom.

He watched her mouth open as a flash of hurt crossed her features, preparing himself for another aggravated quip - but after a brief moment of hesitation, her lips promptly snapped shut again. With a little sigh, she shook her head and placed a palm back on his chest.

“But you’re okay, right?” she murmured, letting the frustration in her voice dissipate. “That’s all that matters.”

“I’m fine,” he answered honestly, feeling his own frustration lessening at the affection in her tone. Ducking his head down to meet her eyes, he added, “I promise.”

She sighed heavily, seeming to deflate at his words. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to… I don’t want to-” she tried to explain, voice smaller than before. “I was just so worried while I was gone.”

He wanted to laugh at how absurd she was - worrying about _him_ while _she_ had been the one in danger the past couple days - it was so like her. The most danger _he_ had been in was dying from irritation at the hands of Hancock.

From anyone else, he might have doubted the sentiment, but from her, Danse was more than certain of her sincerity. She cared for him far more than he deserved, her warmth unwarranted but never unwelcome.

“I know,” he told her, reaching out to brush the bangs away from her downcast eyes. She finally looked up at him, gaze wide and unsure. “And don’t apologize. I was worried about you, too.”

Something finally softened in her expression, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly. “...What, afraid I couldn’t take care of myself?” she asked after a long moment, covering up any bashfulness with a teasing edge to her tone.

“Of course not,” he answered with complete sincerity, never wanting her to doubt his trust in her capabilities. “I trained you, didn’t I? But that mercenary you traveled with - he’s an outlier.”

Her lips curved up higher, the last of her unease erased by the smile. “McCready is _fine._ You just don’t like strangers,” she laughed, stepping out of the doorway and further into the common room. “You didn’t like me at first, did you?” She threw herself onto the dingy red couch, letting out a relieved sigh. “Now, sit down and get off that leg.”

He scoffed slightly, rolling his eyes but obliging her, nonetheless. He sat himself next to her, leaning back against the worn cushions and letting his spine relax.

“I _liked_ you just fine,” he threw back, playing along. “I could just tell how much trouble you were going to make for me.”

“Who, me?” she scoffed. “Trouble? No, never.”

“Never,” he repeated, trying and failing to repress a smile.

Danse heard her hum under her breath - a soft, contented sound. He turned his head to look over at her, blissed out with eyes closed, body melted into the couch. He was amazed by how comforting it was to simply have Charlotte near him again. He already felt ten tons lighter just from the sound of her breathing, the sight of her smile.

“I got something for you, you know,” she mused aloud, her tired voice interrupting his thoughts. Her eyes fluttered open and caught him already staring, though she didn’t appear to be bothered by his steady gaze.

“Did you?” he asked, surprised by how exhausted his own voice sounded. “And what would that be?”

“A new suit of power armor,” she said nonchalantly, though her mouth split into a pleased grin as his eyes widened. “I dragged MacCready to the Prydwen on our way back.”

Danse honestly couldn’t find anything to say. She _had_ told him that he could have her power armor when he was punchdrunk and bleeding out on the ground. But Danse had assumed she was only trying to appease his stubbornness, his frank unwillingness to leave his wrecked suit behind. But _no,_ she… she was constantly surprising him, even after all these months together.

“I figured it would support your injured leg once we leave,” she added, cheeks flushing when he didn’t respond. “I mean - whenever you’re ready to go, that is.”

“I-” he tried to start, though nothing resembling any words followed. No one had ever done something this kind for him before. No one had ever _cared_ enough.

“Oh, and I told Elder Maxson about our lead on Kellogg,” she said, eyes flashing with pride. “And the Institute. He approves, I think. I can never tell with him.”

Blinking away the last of his shock, Danse finally found his voice. “Thank you,” was all he could say, though those two humble words were apparently enough to for her. She beamed at him, that smile of hers completely derailing his thoughts.

“I thought you’d like it,” she said.

“Of course I do,” he told her, voice strangely strangled by emotion. “And you spoke to the Elder. I didn’t think you were-”

He stopped short, quickly ending that train of thought. Danse already knew about Charlotte’s budding reservations when it came to the Brotherhood, and though he knew they would eventually have to face her trepidations, he didn’t want to ruin their reunion by bringing them up now. 

“I’m glad the Elder approves,” Danse corrected himself.

He knew she had caught his slip-up by the way her smile faltered, though she didn’t comment on it. Perhaps she was just as reluctant to sour the mood. Her eyes slid away from his slowly, gaze locking onto the far wall in the settled silence. “And now we can focus on finding Shaun,” she said, voice shaking almost imperceptibly - but he knew her too well to miss the way her bottom lip quivered, the way her hands trembled in her lap.

“I can assure you,” he said evenly, catching her attention, “it’ll be alright. We _will_ find him.” He made sure his claim was confident, solid, leaving no room for her to doubt him.

At his words, she released a slow, stuttering breath. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah, you’re right.”

When reached up to brush at her bangs absentmindedly, Danse could still see that tremor in her hand, an unusual crack in her normally unflappable demeanor. She showed him more than most, after all.

With only a moment of hesitation, he reached out to grab her shivering hand and held it in his own, a hasty attempt to allay her anxiety. “Charlotte,” he said her name slowly, softly. She blinked down at their twined hands before looking back up at him with a slight flush to her cheeks. “It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

Though his words and gestures were undeniably intimate (and completely unheard of from someone like him), she had done similar things for him in the past… surely she would accept similar warmth from him. Still, he watched with held breath as her pink lips parted, another wavering sigh falling from her lips. In an instant, her eyes were shining, the promise of tears at the corners of her eyes - and he felt fear strike him dead-center in the chest.

Had he said too much? Had he said the wrong thing? Had he upset her even further? Was she-?

But then she was laughing almost maniacally, pressing her free hand to one of her glistening eyes. “Thank you,” she laughed hoarsely, her trembling lips now pulled into a watery smile. “Thank you, Danse.”

He opened his mouth to encourage her-

_Anytime, always._

-but before he could, her free hand was reaching out, slender fingers curling under his jaw and pulling his face forward. He leaned into the touch expectantly, dropping his chin down so she could place a kiss on his forehead and leave tingles in its wake. When she pulled away, her eyelids fluttered open into a wide-eyed gaze before softening into understanding.

“Thank you,” she said one last time, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She dropped her fingers from his face, leaving behind a lingering warmth along his jawline. Releasing his hand, as well, she stood from the couch, stretching her back slightly before shooting him an exhausted smile.

“We should probably get some sleep,” she said, words once again even and calm. “I’m sure you’ll want to leave at dawn, hm?”

“...Right,” he told her, resisting the urge to reach up and trace the invisible handprint her touch left behind. “Of course.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. And _please_ try to sleep a little, alright?” she added with a sharp look, daring him to counter with something like _I don't need to sleep, I can't sleep._

But he didn’t dare, only nodding in response to appease her. He would try, he always tried - that didn't mean his traumatized brain would cooperate.

Seemingly satisfied, she gave a soft smile before turning to walk towards her room for the night. “Goodnight, Danse,” she tossed over her shoulder with a little wave, an afterthought, and shut the door behind her.

For the following few minutes, he could only stare at the closed door she disappeared behind. Her touch still burned on his skin, still burned, burned, _burned_ like a bullet to the chest. It lingered, lasted, soothed any itchiness left behind by that woman from earlier.

Finally forcing himself out of his trance with a little stretch, he pushed off the couch and back onto his feet. To be honest, he wasn't tired in the least - even after running and the resulting soreness in his overexerted muscles, he had still spent the better part of two days reading and lounging about. But despite his nerves feeling like frayed wires, uncontained electricity buzzing under his skin… he had agreed to at least _try_ to sleep - so he'd try.

Only for her.

* * *

_Early morning sunlight filtered through the large kitchen window, illuminating the entire room with its warmth. The sun was barely risen above the horizon this early in the morning, but its glow was enough to help her shake off any remnants of sleep. Charlotte sighed contentedly with a tiny stretch, taking a moment to fully awaken her muscles before propping an elbow on the counter._

_Reaching out to grab the mug thoughtfully left out by Codsworth, she took a small sip of the piping hot coffee - the barest hint of cream and sugar softening its bitter flavor. With a little smile, she hummed into her cup, the song’s melody slightly-off key but still pleasant in her soft soprano._

_The hum of her voice filled the empty kitchen, adding to the solitary sounds of birds chirping outside the window and the whir of some neighbor’s lawn mower. The morning was nothing less than serene, a moment of peace rarely found ever since the baby was born._

_After a while of basking alone in the brightening sunlight, soft footfalls alerted her to another presence walking down the hallway. She smiled as he walked into the kitchen, taking in the image of his mussed-up hair and slow-blinking eyes. It was rare for her to be up before him, after all - though if anyone needed the extra sleep, it was him._

_“Good morning,” she greeted, singing the words to the tune of her humming._

_“Mm,” he murmured groggily, the sound still thick from sleep. “What song is that?”_

_“‘Easy Living,’” she said, her words still melodic. He raised a dark eyebrow at her in response, amusement coloring his features. She pouted slightly at his expression, muttering, “Don’t make that face. I know I can’t sing.”_

_“I wasn’t complaining,” Danse assured her, offering her a sincere smile - just the barest quirk of his lips. “It was nice to wake up to.”_

_She flushed only slightly, the sweetness of his words throwing her off-balance. “You’re just biased.”_

_“Maybe I am.”_

_She scoffed and sipped at her coffee, a pitiful attempt to hide her blush. “Silly man,” she mumbled into the cup._

_With a low chuckle, Danse moved to join her at the counter, gratefully accepting the mug she pushed over to him - black tea, unsweetened. He took a long pull of the hot liquid, a pleased sound rumbling in his chest._

_“Did you sleep well?” she asked, leaning into the counter._

_“Mmhm,” he told her, rolling his stiff neck with a little sigh. “Too well.”_

_“Only you would complain about good sleep,” she snorted. “Silly man,” she repeated as an afterthought, “c’mere.”_

_He smiled when she reached out with her free hand, ducking his head down as she stretched onto her toes - his movements expectant, assured, secure. She lightly kissed the center of his forehead, the gesture all sweetness and innocence, and released a satisfied smile as she pulled away._

_“So, what do you want to do today?” she asked, resting her elbows onto the counter. Turning her gaze back to the window, she smiled at the beautiful day that had come to life beyond the glass. “Maybe take Shaun to the park, enjoy this beautiful weather?”_

_She let her words trail off, giving Danse an opening to agree or offer his own suggestion. But the resulting silence stretched on, stretched on until unease had rooted itself in the pit of her stomach._

_“Danse?” she added, angling back toward him to see if something was wrong. “What’s-”_

_The look on his face stopped her words short, stopped her heart dead. He was glaring out the window, his whole expression twisted with frustration and sorrow and_ guilt. _She had never seen him look like this before, his intense eyes darkened until the lines between pupil and iris were erased._

_“A storm is coming. You know that.”_

_She practically had whiplash from how quickly his mood had soured, how instantly the air in the room had gone cold. “What are you talking about?” she tried to ask lightly, nervous laughter trailing behind the words. “It’s supposed to be sunny all weekend, silly man.”_

_And then his dark eyes were locked on her, sapping all the warmth from her chest. “I’m sorry,” he told her, voice thickened with sincere remorse. “But you know I have to go before the storm hits.”_

_He cupped her face with his large hand, running his thumb along the curve of her cheek before trailing downwards, running softly along her bottom lip. The gesture was all sweetness, all affection, but his pained expression pinned her in place, discouraging her from leaning into the touch._

_“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, letting his hand drop down to his side. “I will.”_

_But when he turned away from her, away from her and towards the door, she knew. She_ knew _. If he walked out that door, she knew,_ _she just_ knew _he wasn’t going to return. He was leaving for good, abandoning her to avoid the inevitable storm, to side-step its chaos and devastation. He was leaving her alone, alone to brave the storm on her own._

 _...Maybe she_ was _the storm._

_“You can’t leave me,” she muttered at his back, feeling sputtering hope bloom in her chest when his footsteps stuttered. “Don’t leave me. Not now.”_

_He paused in place, only sparing a glance over his shoulder. “You’ll be alright on your own,” he promised her. “You always are.”_

_His words were supposed to be reassuring, a small comfort to tide her over her until he returned. But the words only evoked panic in her chest, in the pit of her stomach. Though he wasn’t saying it outright, she could understand what he really meant._

_This was goodbye._

_Danse opened the front door, then, no more hesitation in his gait. He stepped into the brightness of the outside world, into a vortex of dust and light and radiation. Before she could say anything more, the outline of his body had been swallowed up by the unknown, swallowed up by the gaping maws of split atoms._

_Tendrils of radiation clouds tried to slip inside, ethereal fingers reaching out, desperately trying to touch her skin. She almost wanted to succumb to them, to lace her fingers into the heat and disappear with Danse._

_But before the wisps could reach her, before she had the chance to reach out, the door slammed shut, severing several ghostly fingers - and she was truly alone._

 

She bolted upright in bed, shaking and overheated with sweaty tendrils of hair stuck to her face. As she blinked into the unexpected dimness, her thoughts couldn’t seem to the match the pace of her erratic breathing. It took an embarrassingly long moment to realize where she was, that she was staring into the darkened room of the Old State House and not a mushroom cloud. The revelation was enough to calm her somewhat.

But then she remembered - she remembered her dream with scathing clarity, and her heart immediately shattered into a million pieces. It had been the subconscious retelling of an early morning with her husband, only a few short months before the Great War - a soft echo of one of those few blissful moments they shared after the baby was born, after Nate was deployed and a stranger returned to fill his place. It was one of her most treasured memories of her husband, sweet and simple and unburdened-

And she had gone and _ruined it._

Nate had been dead for barely  _four_ _months,_ yet Charlotte had already begun to replace him with another man in her mind, in their memories. In a way, it made sense - Nate had been the most important man in her life for so long, and now that he was gone, Danse was beginning to fill that hole in her life. But just because it _made sense_ didn’t mean it was acceptable. Justification didn’t make her feel any less guilty.

She felt panicked, strangled by her own carelessness, by the lack of control over her own subconscious. Squeezing her eyes shut, she attempted to force control over her mind, draw upon any memory of her husband, clarify his face in her mind. But for as hard as she tried, she could only conjure a muddied image of him, some strange abstract artwork painted with the green of his eyes.

When her eyelids fluttered back open, desperate tears trailed down her cheeks, evoked by a choking sense of shame. Nate had been her best friend for over a decade, the father of her child, a foundational piece of her family, yet she didn't even have the _decency_ to remember his _goddamn_ _face -_ not even in her dreams.

He had walked into the room with a sleepy grin on his lips, looking more peaceful than he had in months. She still couldn’t recall the shape of his smile, the wrinkles by his eyes, yet she could remember how he looked at her - that man looked at her like she was the best singer he had ever heard, like she stole each and every breath from his lungs, like she was more precious than any sunrise, like she _was_ the sun.

Yet she couldn’t remember his face, his warmth, the scars that littered his skin.

But that was the reality of his death, wasn’t it? She hadn’t just lost him to death - she was already starting to lose the small pieces of him left behind. And with every piece she lost, she only felt more and more alone - almost abandoned by her husband, though she knew the thought was unfair. Nate hadn’t _wanted_ to leave her.

It was just difficult to shake the feeling that she was destined to lose everyone she cared about, in one way or another. Whether it be friends moving across the country, the cruelness of atomic bombs, unforgiving gunfire, unavoidable kidnapping, undeserved abandonment _(because you weren't enough, weren't enough, weren't enough to make her stay)_ \- it felt inevitable.

She stared at her hands, glaring down at where they rested in her lap, and watched as stray teardrops landed in her palms. Her thoughts choked her as they spiraled out of control, suffocated by the fear of loss, of losing, of loneliness. She couldn't lose anyone else, didn't have the strength to bear it.

At the thought, her heart stuttered strangely with newfound fear, recalling the end of her dream as Danse walked away from her, his footsteps dissolved by the hum of mushroom clouds.

Danse - she couldn’t lose him. She _couldn’t._ She just had to trust that he wouldn’t walk away, that he wanted to stay beside her as much as she did - if she gave into the fear that he didn’t, she would likely lose her mind.

But it was hard not to worry, hard not to replay the image of him walking away from her. She had given him plenty of reasons to leave, plenty of reasons to doubt she could be the Brotherhood soldier he wanted her to be - yet he had stuck by her side. Whether it be because of loyalty or affection or _madness,_ he hadn't left her.

Maybe this time could be different - maybe _he_ could be different. Maybe he’d stay.

A dull thudding dragged her from spiraling thoughts, alerting her to someone knocking at her door. She hastily wiped at her cheeks, brushing away fallen tears, though she knew her swollen and bloodshot eyes would betray her with or without tears.

“Come in,” she relented, voice raw and uneven.

Opening the door gently, Danse stepped into the room with a slight smile on his lips, an alarmingly familiar expression on his face as his eyes met hers - and as realization hit her like a lightning bolt, she felt her heart flutter and stop completely.

He looked at her like she stole each and every breath from his lungs, like she was more precious than any sunrise, like she _was_ the sun.

_...Oh._

He had looked at her the same way when she rushed into his arms last night, as she scolded him for being reckless, when brought him power armor, whenever she smiled, smiled, _smiled-_

Jumping as a firm hand touched her shoulder, she realized Danse had come closer, now standing beside her with mouth pulled into a frown. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “More nightmares?’

“Mm,” she hummed, nodding her head. _In a sense._

“Did you get enough sleep?” he asked. “We don’t have to leave right away if you want to sleep a bit longer.”

“No-!” she choked out loudly, terrified at the thought of being dragged back to her dreams.

But even after cycling through the same few nightmares every night since waking up in the vault, this fear wasn’t because of returning to one of those hellish fantasies. She wasn’t afraid of reliving her husband's death or ghouls biting into her skin or watching Shaun get ripped from her fingers over and over and _over-_

For the first time in months, she wasn’t afraid of that familiar terror, no. She was afraid of something deeper than those recurring nightmares, of something that would rearrange her from the inside out, of something she wasn’t yet able to define.

“No,” she repeated more confidently, soothing his worried look. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

He blinked at her for a moment longer, likely trying and failing to decipher her odd behavior. “...Alright,” he finally relented, squeezing her shoulder briefly before letting his hand fall. “Then gear up, Knight. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Charlotte nodded, unable to find anything more to say.

He didn't look very convinced, though he still accepted her response with a nod of his own. After turning to take his leave, Danse offered her one more glance over his shoulder-

_Like she was more precious than any sunrise, like she was the sun-_

-and shut the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. It's been forever.
> 
> This chapter was such a struggle to write, yall. Like oh my god, I probably deleted and re-wrote the beginning about three times, I shit you not. Plus this chapter was originally going to be like some dumb mega-chapter, but then I reached the end of what I'm posting now and realized I should probably just split it into two chapters eughhhhh
> 
> So after all that, I hope you enjoyed this chapter (and that it was worth the wait maybe?) I'm still not super happy with the final result - I'm afraid it's just too introspective and there's not enough AcTION!!!!!! in this chapter, but whatevs. I just wanted to give you guys SOMETHING after a good few months of nothing.
> 
> As always, let me know what yall thought !<3


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